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KMACMfUAN':^ 



CLASSICS^ 





Copyright ]^"_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SELECTED POEMS 



iWacmtllan's Pocfeet American anlr lEnslisfj Classics 

A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and 
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. 



i6mo 



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25 cents each 



Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. 

Andersen's Fairy Tales. 

Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 

Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum. 

Austen's Pride and Prejudice. 

Bacon's Essays. 

Bible (Memorable Passages from). 

Blackmore's Lorna Doone. 

Browning's Shorter Poems. 

Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). 

Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc. 

Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. 

Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. 

Burke's Speech on Conciliation. 

Burns' Poems (Selections from). 

Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 

Byron's Shorter Poems. 

Carlyle's Essay on Burns. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship. 

Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonder- 
land (Illustrated). 

Chaucer's Prologue and Knight's Tale. 

Church's The Story of the Iliad. 

Church's The Story of the Odyssey. 

Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner. 

Cooper's The Deerslayer. 

Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans. 

Cooper's The Spy. 

Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. 

Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

De Quincey's Confessions of an English 
Opium- Eater. 

De Quincey's Joan of Arc, and The Eng- 
lish Mail-Coach. 

Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and The 
Cricket on the Hearth. 

Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. 

Dickens' David Copperfield. 

Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. 

Early American Orations, 1760-1824. 

Edwards' (Jonathan) Sermons. 



Eliot's Silas Marner. 

Emerson's Essays. 

Emerson's Early Poems. 

Emerson's Representative Men. 

English Narrative Poems. 

Epoch-making Papers in U. S. History. 

Franklin's Autobiography. 

Gaskell's Cranford. 

Goldsmith's The Deserted Village, She 

Stoops to Conquer, and The Good- 
natured Man. 
Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. 
Gray's Elegy, etc., and Cowper's John 

Gilpin, etc. 
Grimm's Fairy Tales. 
Hale's The Man Without a Country. j 

Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. | 

Hawthorne's Mosses from an Old' 

Manse. 
Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. 
Hawthorne's The House of the Seven 

Gables. 
Hawthorne's Twice-told Tales (Selections! 

from). I 

Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. "^ 

Holmes' Poems. 
Homer's Iliad (Translated). 
Homer's Odyssey (Translated). 
Hughes' Tom Brown's School Days. 
Huxley's Autobiography and Lay Ser 

mons. 
Irving's Life of Ck)ldsmith. 
Irving's Knickerbocker. 
Irving's The Alhambra. 
Irving's Sketch Book. 
Irving's Tales of a Traveller. 
Keary's Heroes of Asgard. 
Kempis: The Imitation of Christ. 
Kingsley's The Heroes. 
Lamb's The Essays of Elia. 
Lincoln's Inaugurals and Speeches. 



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A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and 
Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. 



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-ongfellow's Evangeline. 

-ongfellow's Hiawatha. 

-ongffellow's Miles Standish. 

-ongfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. 

l^owell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

Vlacaulay's Essay on Addison. 

Vlacaulay's Essay on Hastings. 

Vlacaulay's Essay on Lord Clive. 

Vlacaulay's Essay on Milton. 

Vlacaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, 

Vlacaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson. 

Vlilton's Comus and Other Poems. 

Vlalory's Le Morte Darthur. 

Vlilton's Paradise Lost, Books L and IL 

viore's Utopia. 

)ld English Ballads. 

Did Testament (Selections from). 

)ut of the Northland. 

^algrave's Golden Treasury. 

^arkman's Oregon Trail. 

^'lutarch's Lives (Caesar, Brutus, and 

Mark Antony). 
'oe's Poems. 

^oe's Prose Tales (Selections from), 
^oems, Narrative and Lyrical, 
'ope's Homer's Iliad, 
'ope's Homer's Odyssey, 
'ope's The Rape of the Lock. 
Luskin's Sesame and Lilies. 
Luskin's The Crown of Wild Olive and 

Queen of the Air. 
Jcott's Ivanhoe. 
)Cott's Kenilworth. 
>cott's Lady of the Lake. 
Jcott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
jcott's Marmion. 
Icott's Quentin Durward. 
Icott's The Talisman, 
lelect Orations for Declamation. 
>elect Poems, for required reading in 
Secondary Schools. 



Shakespeare's As You Like It. 
Shakespeare's Hamlet. 
Shakespeare's Henry V. 
Shakespeare's Julius Csesar. 
Shakespeare's King Lear. 
Shakespeare's Macbeth. 
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's 

Dream. 
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 
Shakespeare's Richard II. 
Shakespeare's The Tempest. 
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 
Shelley and Keats : Poems. 
Sheridan's The Rivals and The School 

for Scandal. 
Southern Poets : Selections. 
Southern Orators: Selections. 
Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 
Stevenson's Kidnapped. 
Stevenson's The Master of Ballantrae. 
Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey, and 

An Inland Voyage. 
Stevenson's Treasure Island. 
Swift's Gulliver's Travels. 
Tennyson's Idylls of the King^. 
Tennyson's In Memoriam. 
Tennyson's The Princess. 
Tennyson's Shorter Poems. 
Thackeray's English Humourists. 
Thackeray's Henry Esmond. 
Thoreau's Walden. 
Virgil's /Eneid. 
Washington's Farewell Address, and 

Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration, 
Whittier's Snow-Bound and Other Early 

Poems. 
Woolman's Journal. 
Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

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MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
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THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 




THOMAS GRAY 



SELECTED POEMS 



FOR REQUIRED READING IN SECONDARY 
SCHOOLS 



EDITED 

WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 



HENRY W. BOYNTON, M.A. 

ii 



WeiB gorfe • 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1911 

All rights reserved 



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COPYEIGHT, 1911, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 191 1. 



J. S. Gushing Co, — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



^ClAa031T2 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 

The Poems ix 

Coleridge and Wordsworth xi 

Macaulay and the Lays . . • xiv 

Poe and The Raven xix 

Lowell and The Vision of Sir Launfal .... xxiii 
Arnold and Sohrab and Rustum .... xxvi 

Longfellow and The Courtship of Miles Standish . . xxix 
Whittier and Snow-Bound . . . . • . . xxxi 

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 1 

Lays of Ancient Rome 

Horatius 33 

The Battle of the Lake Regillus 64 

Virginia . . . . ,,.» 101* 

The Prophecy of Capys 123 

The Raven 138 

The Vision of Sir Launfal 147 

Sohrab and Rustum 164 

The Courtship of Miles Standish 202 

Snow-Bound 287 

Notes 321 

vii 



INTRODUCTION 

These seven poems represent fairly well the poetry 
of the early and middle nineteenth century. They are 
here printed in the order of their original publication. 
Excepting The Ancient Mariner , they all appeared 
within the quarter-century between 1840 and 1865. 
It was in just this period, too, that Tennyson and 
Browning wrote their best poems. 

But between 1798 and 1842 another great group, or 
rather series, of poets had earned a just and lasting fame. 
Coleridge is their only direct representative in this book. 
The others were Wordsworth and Keats and Shelley 
and Byron and Scott ; and they are all indirectly repre- 
sented here, for they left their stamp on the poetry that 
followed, and indeed on all poetry that has been written 
since. Wordsworth has special claim to mention here. 
He was joint author of the Lyrical Ballads , in which 
The Ancient Mariner appeared, and which marked a 
step in the development of English poetry. 



X INTRODUCTION 

In the great day of Shakespeare, poetry had been a 
hving and free thing. By the beginning of the eigh- 
teenth century it had grown tame and artificial. It 
was still salable — Pope made a respectable fortune out 
of his verses. But in his hands Enghsh poetry would 
have died, if a racial poetry could ever die. He himself 
was a poet in spite of himself and his little rules. But 
in his own day he was supposed to be a very great poet 
because of them. The consequence was that for nearly 
a century everybody who wrote English verse tried to 
write hke Pope. They succeeded, so far as the rules 
could carry them ; but it was a sorry day for poetry, if 
poetry means anything more than a set jingle. Even 
Goldsmith, true poet that he was, did not dream of 
breaking away from Pope's rules. The Traveller and 
The Deserted Village are beautiful in spite of the meas- 
ure in which they were written — or rather they tri- 
umph over that measure, and make it a beautiful thing 
in itself. In Goldsmith, and, shortly after him, in 
Burns and Cowper and Blake and Landor, poetry had 
begun to live again. So that when Coleridge and Words- 
worth came to put forth the Lyrical Ballads^ they were 
conscious champions of a new faith. 



INTRODUCTION XI 

Coleridge and Wordsworth 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth 
met in 1796. Coleridge was twenty-four, Wordsworth 
two years older. Both had studied at the University 
of Cambridge, both had become enthusiasts in the 
revolutionary cause which absorbed all Europe and 
America at that time. They were very different in 
character, but both wished to be poets, and poets of a 
new order. Coleridge himself has given an account 
of the way in which they came to write the Lyrical 
Ballads : — 

'' During the first year Mr. Wordsworth and I were neigh- 
bours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal 
points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the 
reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the 
power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours 
of imagination. The sudden charm, which accidents of light 
and shade, which moonlight or sunset, diffused over a known 
and familiar landscape, appeared to represent the practicabil- 
ity^ of combining both. These are the poetry of nature. The 
thought suggested itself (to which of us I do not recollect) 
that a series of poems might be composed of two sorts. In the 
one, the incidents and agents were to be, in part at least, super- 
natural; and the excellence aimed at was to consist in the 



Xll INTRODUCTION 

interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such 
emotions as would naturally accompany such situations, sup- 
posing them real. And real in this sense they have been to 
every human being who, from whatever source of delusion, 
has at any time beheved himself under supernatural agency. 
For the second class, subjects were to be chosen from ordinary 
life ; the characters and incidents were to be such as will be 
found in every village and its vicinity where there is a medita- 
tive and feeling mind to seek after them, or to notice them 
when they present themselves. 

^'In this idea originated the plan of the ^Lyrical Ballads' ; 
in which it was agreed that my endeavours should be directed 
to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic ; 
yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest 
and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shad- 
ows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the 
moment, which constitutes poetic faith. Mr. Wordsworth, 
on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his object, to 
give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and to ex- 
cite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by aw^akening 
the mind's attention from the lethargy of custom, and direct- 
ing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before 
us ; an inexhaustible treasure, but for which, in consequence 
of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we have eyes, 
yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel 
nor understand." 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

There were twenty-three poems in the Lyrical Ballads, 
of which Coleridge wrote only four; but The Ancient 
Mariner was one of them. The origin of this poem is 
described by Wordsworth in his Memoirs : — 

^'In the autumn of 1797 he (Coleridge), my sister, and my- 
seK, started from Alf oxden pretty late in the afternoon with a 
view to visit Linton and the Valley of Stones near to it. Ac- 
cordingly we set off, and proceeded along the Quantock Hills 
towards Watchet, and in the course of this walk was planned 
the poem of The Ancient Mariner ^ founded on a dream, as Mr. 
Coleridge said, of his friend, Mr. Cruikshank. Much the 
greater part of the story was Mr. Coleridge's invention, but 
certain parts I suggested; for example, some crime was to 
be committed which should bring upon the Old Navigator, 
as Coleridge afterwards dehghted to call him, the spectral 
persecution, as a consequence of that crime and his own wan- 
derings. I had been reading in Shelvocke's Voijages a day or 
two before, that, while doubling Cape Horn, they frequently 
saw albatrosses in that latitude, the largest sort of sea-fowl, 
some extending their wings twelve or thirteen feet. ^Sup- 
pose,' said I, 'you represent him as having killed one of these 
birds on entering the South Sea, and that the tutelary spirits 
of these regions take upon them to avenge the crime.' The 
incident was thought fit for the purpose, and adopted accord- 
ingly. I also suggested the navigation of the ship by the dead 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

men, but do not recollect that I had anything more to do with 
the scheme of the poem. The gloss with which it was subse- 
quently accompanied was not thought of by either of us at the 
time, at least not a hint of it was given to me, and I have no 
doubt it was a gratuitous afterthought. We began the com- 
position together on that, to me, memorable evening. I fur- 
nished two or three hues at the beginning of the poem, in 
particular : — 

' And listened like a three years^ child: 
The Mariner had his will.' 
These trifling contributions, all but one, which Mr. Coleridge 
has with unnecessary scrupulosity recorded, slipped out of his 
mind, as they well might. As we endeavoured to proceed con- 
jointly (I speak of the same evening), our respective manners 
proved so widely different that it would have been quite pre- 
sumptuous in me to do anything but separate from an under- 
taking upon which I could only have been a clog.'' 

Coleridge wrote much poetry, but his fame rests upon 
The Ancient Mariner and two other poems, Christabel 
and Kiibla Khan, — each a marvel of its kind, and each 
with something strange and haunting in its beauty. 

Macaulay and the Lays 

Nearly half a century passed between the publication 
of The Ancient Mariner and the appearance of The Lays 



INTRODUCTION XV 

of Ancient Rome. In the meantime the new poetry, 
the poetry of naturalness as contrasted with the poetry 
of artifice, had been generally accepted. Instead of 
restricting themselves to one manner, as the eighteenth 
century versifiers had done, the early nineteenth century 
poets used a variety of forms. The old ^'poetic dic- 
tion, '^ — the set phrases and conventional images of 
the past, — was abandoned for the most part. Byron 
and Wordsworth, so different in most ways, were alike 
in their bold use of the Enghsh of common speech. 
Keats and Shelley strove for the free and irregular 
beauty which was the goal of the whole ^^ romantic^' 
movement, as it has come to be called. Unrhymed or 
^^ blank'' verse, so flexible an instrument in the hands of 
the Ehzabethans and of Milton, almost displaced the 
^^ heroic verse'' — the regular rhymed couplets — ^ of 
Pope and his clan. 

Near the end of the eighteenth century the first col- 
lection of English and Scottish ballads was made by 
Bishop Percy. This natural and spontaneous poetry 
of the people had great influence upon the new poets. 
The Ancient Mariner has the form and flavor of an old 
ballad. Sir Walter Scott was saturated with this an- 
cient ballad-literature, and all of his poetry is based 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

upon it. Marmion and The Lady of the Lake are hardly 
more than ballads on a large scale. These two poems 
were published and became at once popular when Ma- 
caulay was a boy, and his Roman ballads, or lays, though 
they were not written till many years later, very clearly 
show the influence of Scott^s style. 

Macaulay was born in 1800, and the Lays of Ancient 
Rome were published in 1842. Long before then, he 
had distinguished himself as an essayist and a states- 
man. He entered Parliament at thirty, and was a mem- 
ber of the Supreme Council for India at thirty-four. His 
essays had made him famous as a writer. They were 
collected and published in the year after the Lays were 
printed. A few years later the famous History of Eng- 
land appeared, with extraordinary success. It sold hke 
the Waverley Novels, and brought Macaulay a fortune 
and a title. 

The sources of the Lays Macaulay has very fully 
described in his general and special prefaces, which 
ought by all means to be read in connection with the 
poems : — 

'^ The early history of Rome, " he says in the general Pref- 
ace, " is far more poetical than anything else in Latin liter- 
ature. The loves of the Vestal and the God of War, the 



INTRODUCTION xvil 

cradle laid among the reeds of Tiber, the fig tree, the she- wolf , 
the shepherd's cabin, the recognition, the fratricide, the rape 
of the Sabines, the death of Tarpeia, the fall of Hostus Hos- 
tilius, the struggle of Mettus Curtius through the marsh, the 
women rushing with torn raiment and dishevelled hair be- 
tween their fathers and their husbands, the nightly meetings 
of Numa and the Nymph by the well in the sacred grove, the 
fight of the three Romans and the three Albans, the purchase 
of the Sibylline books, the crime of TuUia, the simulated mad- 
ness of Brutus, the ambiguous reply of the Delphian oracle 
to the Tarquins, the WTongs of Lucretia, the heroic actions 
of Horatius Codes, of Scsevola, and of Cloelia, the battle of 
Regillus won by the aid of Castor and Pollux, the defence 
of Cremera, the touching story of Coriolanus, the still more 
touching story of Virginia, the wild legend about the draining 
of the Alban lake, the combat between Valerius Corvus and 
the gigantic Gaul, are among the many instances which will 
at once suggest themselves to every reader/^ 

Such themes as these, Macaulay believes, were treated 
by ballad-poets among the early Romans. The ballads 
have perished, and he has tried to reconstruct some of 
them : — 

'^In the following poems, the author speaks, not in his own 
person, but in the persons of ancient minstrels who know only 
what a Roman citizen, born three or four hundred years before 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

the Christian era, may be supposed to have known, and who 
are in no wise above the passions and prejudices of their age 
and nation. To these imaginary poets must be ascribed some 
blunders which are so obvious that it is unnecessary to point 
them out. The real blunder would have been to represent 
these old poets as deeply versed in general history, and studious 
of chronological accuracy. To them must also be attributed 
the illiberal sneers at the Greeks, the furious party-spirit, the 
contempt for the arts of peace, the love of war for its own sake, 
the ungenerous exultation over the vanquished, which the 
reader will sometimes observe. To portray a Roman of the 
age of Camillus or Curius as superior to national antipathies, 
as mourning over the devastation and slaughter by which 
empire and triumphs were to be won, as looking on human 
suffering with the sympathy of Howard, or as treating con- 
quered enemies with the delicacy of the Black Prince, would 
be to violate all dramatic propriety. The old Romans had 
some great virtues, fortitude, temperance, veracity, spirit to 
resist oppression, respect for legitimate authority, fidehty 
in the observing of contracts, disinterestedness, ardent pa- 
triotism; but Christian charity and chivalrous generosity 
were alike unknown to them. 

^^It would have been obviously improper to mimic the man- 
ner of any particular age or country. Something has been bor- 
rowed, however, from our own old ballads, and more from Sir 
Walter Scott, the great restorer of our ballad-poetry. To 



INTRODUCTION xix 

the Iliad still greater obligations are due ; and those obliga- 
tions have been contracted with the less hesitation, because 
there is reason to believe that some of the old Latin minstrels 
really had recourse to that inexhaustible store of poetical 
images." 

Macaulay was not a poet of the first order, but in the 
Lays J and in a few other stirring poems, such as Ivry and 
The Battle of Naseby, he won a real and living success. 

PoE AND The Raven 

Poe had much more in common with Coleridge than 
with Macaulay. Macaulay was a man of practical 
ability as well as of genius. His life was a long series 
of social and material successes. Poe, like Coleridge, 
was comparatively unstable in character and purpose, 
and had a hard struggle of it. The bulk of his poetry, 
like Coleridge's, was small, and its quality strange. 
Poe chanced to be born in America a generation later 
than Coleridge, but there is nothing distinctively Amer- 
ican about The Raven, as there is nothing distinctively 
English about The Ancient Mariner. The imagination 
of Poe, like the imagination of Coleridge, dwelt in No- 
man's-land, among cloudlike shadows, and dim images 
of mystery, or horror, or unearthly beauty. 



XX INTRODUCTION 

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston in 1809, which 
was also the birth-year of Tennyson, Lincoln, and 
Holmes. He was brought up in the South, and was 
Southern rather than Northern in temperament and 
sympathies. He only hved to be forty years old, and 
his life was an unhappy one, partly by his own fault, 
and partly because it was then so hard, even for a man 
of combined genius and industry, to make a Uving 
with his pen. Coleridge was pensioned, early in life, 
by two rich patrons. Macaulay had independent 
means. But Poe, after being rather spoiled by his 
adopted father throughout boyhood, was cast suddenly 
upon his own resources. His early marriage to an in- 
valid increased his burden, and his inherited bodily 
weaknesses and moral irresolution made that burden 
too heavy to be borne through a long career. 

Poe's poetry, all that is best of it, is in a single key 
and within a narrow register, — 

** A strange, a weird, a melancholy strain, 
Like the low moaning of the distant sea.'' 

The thought of death, especially of the death of youth 
and beauty, at once oppresses and inspires him. The 
result is a series of poems, very brief most of them, 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

distinguished by a peculiar haunting melody. It is 
this singing quality which led Tennyson to pronounce 
Poe the best of American poets: ^^not unworthy to stand 
beside Catullus, the most melodious of Latins, and 
Heine, the most tuneful of Germans/^ 

The Raven is the most popular if not the most beau- 
tiful of his poems. There are several accounts of its 
origin. One is that he wrote it in a few hours one night, 
to get money to buy medicines for his sick young wife. 
Another is that it was written bit by bit and submitted 
to various friends, who made suggestions, some of which 
were taken. Poe himself, in his paper called The Phi- 
losophy of Composition, has provided a queer account of 
his method of composing the poem. If it is true, 
neither of the other . stories can have much truth in 
them. It would make out The Raven to be a very elab- 
orate composition. Like most of Poe^s poetry, it under- 
went a good deal of revision after its first publication. 

Poe was confessedly a poet of sound. He despised 
preaching in verse, and declared that poetry is ^Hhe 
rhythmical creation of beauty.'' In The Philosophy of 
Composition he fully explains why his favorite theme is 
the naturally inspiring theme for him. 

The highest note of beauty, he says, is sadness. The 



xxii » INTRODUCTION 

beauty of woman is the perfect beauty, and her loss the 
irreparable loss: her death, therefore, ^Hhe most poet- i 
ical topic in the world/' ''Upon it,'' says Woodberry, 
''he would lavish his impassioned music, heightening its 
effects by every metrical device, and by contrast with | 
something of the quaint and grotesque — as the love- \ 
hness and glory of a mediaeval structure are intensified j 
by gargoyles, and by weird discordant tracery here and i 
there. The greater part of Poe's verse accords with his i 
theory at large. Several of the later poems illustrate ; 
it in general and particular. The Raven bears out his \ 
ex post facto analysis to the smallest detail. We have ] 
the note of hopelessness, the brooding regret, the artis- \ 
tic value supported by richly romantic properties in i 
keeping; the occasion follows the death of a woman j 
beautiful and beloved; the sinister bird is an emblem | 
of the irreparable, and its voice the sombre 'Never- 
more.' Finally, the melody of this strange poem is a | 
vocal dead-march, and so compulsive with its peculiar ' 
measure, its refrain and repetends, that' in the end I 
even the more critical yielded to its quaintness and fan- ; 
tasy, and accorded it a lasting place in literature." j 

During his life, Poe's work was more generously rec- \ 
ognized abroad, especially in France, than in America. i 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 

Lowell and The Vision of Sir Launfal 

The Vision of Sir Launfal was published in 1848, three 
years after The Raven. Lowell was then under thirty, 
but had already made a name for himself. He and all 
the later poets to be included in this book belonged to 
the Macaulay rather than to the Coleridge-Poe type. 
That is, they were all men of firm character and, in one 
way or another, of practical usefulness to the world. 
Their struggles were not chiefly with poverty, or with 
their own weaknesses, but with the problems of life and 
art as they present themselves to men of strong nature. 

James Russell Lowell was born in 1819, in the httle 
village of Cambridge. His life was the life of a country 
boy. Harvard College was near by, and Lowell nat- 
urally entered there when the time came. Literature 
was a chief interest among college students in that day, 
when athletics did not exist, and there were few outside 
distractions. LowelFs fellow-undergraduates proph- 
esied hterary success for him — a prophecy which is 
often made in college, but does not always come true. 
When he was graduated, he promised his father to 
''give up poetry and go to work''; and he actually 
studied, law for a time. But the writing instinct was 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

too strong for him, and it was not long before he took 
to his pen in earnest. For some years he had to work 
hard, but not painfully ; and he was still a young man 
when he became known both as poet and as prose- 
writer. 

The Vision of Sir Launfal was written at a time when 
his imagination was particularly active. It is said to 
have been composed almost at a heat. Lowell, who 
was New England bred as well as New England born, 
did not share Poe^s prejudice against preaching in verse. 
The Vision is very distinctly a poem with a moral. As 
it happens, this moral is very much like that of The 
Ancient Mariner. The Mariner^s trouble begins when 
he wrongs one of God^s creatures ; Sir LaunfaFs begins 
when he scorns a poor beggar in his heart. And the 
cure is the same in both cases — 'the opening of the 
heart toward even the humblest of one^s fellow-creatures. 
The Vision also expresses the mystical side of that 
double nature which Lowell recognized as his own : 
The Fable for Critics, that brilliant satire, had appeared 
a very short time before The Vision of Sir Launfal, 
One poem was as characteristic of Lowell as the other. 
It was at about the same date that he wrote to a 
friend : — 



INTRODUCTION XXV 

"I find myself very curiously compounded of two utterly 
distinct characters. One half of me is clear mystic and en- 
thusiast, and the other humorist. If I had lived as solitary as 
a hermit of the Thebais, I doubt not that I should have had 
as authentic interviews with the Evil One as they, and, without 
any disrespect to the saint, it would have taken very little 
to have made a Saint Francis of me. Indeed, during that part 
of my life which I hved most alone, I was never a single night 
un visited by visions, and once I thought I had a personal rev- 
elation from God himself. ... On the other hand, had I 
mixed more with the world than I have, I should probably 
have become a Pantagruelist.^' 

The visionary faculty finds expression in Sir Launfal. 
The poem is irregular in form, and Dr. Holmes rightly 
called LowelFs attention to its lack of finish and its 
incongruities. But it has a swing and enthusiasm that 
make up for minor faults. As LowelFs chief biographer 
says, ^^ It has stood the test of time ; it is beloved now by 
thousands of young American readers, for whom it has 
been a first initiation to the beauty of poetic idealism.^' 

In simple poems like The First Snow-Fall, and in 
elaborate poems like the Commemoration Ode, Lowell 
has reached a higher level of poetic art ; but none of his 
poems is more characteristic, in form and substance, 
than The Vision of Sir Launfal, 



xxvi INTRODUCTION 

Arnold and Sohrab and Rustum 

Matthew Arnold was a little younger than Lowell ; 
he was born in 1822. His father was the famous Dr. 
Thomas Arnold of Rugby, and his mother was a re- 
markable woman. Arnold was a studious boy, and 
won poetical prizes both at Rugby and Oxford. After 
some experience as teacher and private secretary, he 
was made, at twenty-nine, an inspector of schools, and 
worked as inspector or commissioner for the rest of his hf e. 

His fame as a writer, hke LowelFs, has a double foun- 
dation. As critic and essayist he was acknowledged to 
be supreme in his generation. As a poet he has made 
his way more slowly in general esteem. He had not 
the quahties which made Tennyson and Browning 
popular, in their different ways, while they hved. 
There is something a httle cold and remote about even 
his best work. He followed, that is, the classical models, 
and represents a reaction against the romantic tendency 
which led to such extravagances on the part of Browning 
and others among Arnold's contemporaries. On the 
other hand, he often fairly mounts to what he called 
'Hhe grand style'' — a style only to be approached by 
poets of a very high order. 



INTRODUCTION xxvii 

These qualities of restraint and loftiness are well 
shown in Sohrab and Rustum. The poem appeared in 
the third collection of Arnold^s poems. He was thirty- 
one years old when it was written, and the composition 
of it took hold of him in an uncommon way, as is shown 
by the following passage from a letter to his mother : — 

''All my spare time has been spent on a poem which I haye 
just finished, and which I think by far the best thing I have yet 
done, and I think it will be generally Uked ; though one can 
never be sure of this. I have had the greatest pleasure in 
composing it, a rare thing with me, and, as I think, a good 
test of the pleasure what you write is likely to afford to others. 
But the story is a very noble and excellent one.'' 

There are several versions in English of the Persian 
legend of Sohrab and Rustum. The one upon which 
Arnold founded his poem is given in Sir John Mal- 
colm's History of Persia : — 

"The young Sohrab was the fruit of one of Rustum's early 
amours. He had left his mother, and sought fame under the 
banners of Afrasiab, whose armies he commanded. He had 
carried death and dismay into the ranks of the Persians, and 
had terrified the boldest warriors of that country, before 
Rustum encountered him, which at last that hero resolved 
to do. They met three times. The first time they parted 



Xxviil INTRODUCTION 

by mutual consent, though Sohrab had the advantage ; the 
second, the youth obtained a victory, but granted Ufe to 
his unknown father; the third was fatal to Sohrab, who, 
when writhing in the pangs of death, warned the conqueror 
to shun the vengeance that is inspired by parental woes, 
and bade him dread the rage of the mighty Rustum, who 
must soon learn that he had slain his son Sohrab. These 
words, we are told, were as death to the aged hero, and 
when he recovered from a trance, he called in despair for 
proofs of what Sohrab had said. The afflicted and dying 
youth tore open his mail, and showed his father a seal which 
his mother had placed on his arm when she discovered to him 
the secret of his birth, and bade him seek his father. The sight 
of his own signet rendered Rustum quite frantic; he cursed 
himself, attempting to put an end to his existence, and was 
only prevented by the efforts of his expiring son. After Soh- 
rab's death, he burnt his tents and all his goods, and carried the 
corpse to Seistan, where it was interred ; the army of Turan 
was, agreeably to the last request of Sohrab, permitted to cross 
the Oxus unmolested. To reconcile us to the improbability 
of the tale, we are informed that Rustum could have no idea 
that his son was in existence. The mother of Sohrab had 
written to him her child was a daughter, fearing' to lose her 
darling infant if she revealed the truth ; and Rustum fought 
under a feigned name, an usage not uncommon to the chival- 
rous combats of those days.'' 



INTRODUCTION xxix 

Longfellow and The Courtship of Miles Standish 

Longfellow was born in 1807. He was therefore past 
middle age when^ in 1858, The Courtship of Miles Stan- 
dish was published. He had been putting forth poetry 
for twenty years, and had produced much of his best. 
His earliest work, like that of most poets, was imitative, 
and had httle about it that was distinctively American. 
But in 1847 appeared Evangeline, in subject a new- world 
poem. Oddly enough, it was cast in one of the most 
ancient of moulds, the metre of Homer and Virgil. It is 
not a metre which is naturally adapted to the English 
tongue. Our language is made up of short, choppy 
words, while the dactylic measure of the Iliad or the 
Mneid is built of long, roUing words, many of them 
with unaccented inflectional endings. Only a few poems 
of any account have been written in this measure in 
English. Two of them, Evangeline, and The Courtship 
of Miles Standish which followed eleven years later, are 
Longfellow's. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, 
Maine. He studied at Bowdoin College in the remark- 
able class which also contained Hawthorne. Like 
Lowell, he made up his mind to gain success as a writer, 



XXX INTROD UCTION 

and like Lowell, he became a professor at Harvard, and 
lived a life in which money troubles played no part. 
Indeed, his whole career was so sheltered and so uni- 
formly successful, that we must think of him as one of 
the most enviable among literary men. His poetry 
has the serene quiet strength which might be expected 
to be the fruit of such a life. It is not brilhant or en- 
chanting, but it is sound and sweet. 

Longfellow^s diary gives account of the writing of 
The Courtship of Miles Standish : — 

December 2, 1857. "Soft as spring. I begin a new poem, 
Priscilla; to be a kind of Puritan pastoral; the subject, the 
courtship of Miles Standish. This, I think, will be a better 
treatment of the subject than the dramatic one I wrote some 
time ago.^^ 

December 3d, 1857. "My poem is in hexameters, an idyl 
of the Old Colony times.'' 

December 29th, 1857. "Wrote a little at Priscilla.'' 

January 29th, 1858. "Began again on Priscilla, and wrote 
several pages, finishing the second canto.'' 

February 17, 1858. "Have worked pretty steadily for the 
last week on Priscilla. To-day finish canto four." 

March 1, 1858. "Keep indoors, and work on Pris- 
cilla, which I think I shall call The Courtship of Miles 
Standish.'' 



INTRODUCTION xxxi 

March 16, 1858. '^But I find time, notwithstanding, to 
write a whole canto of Miles Standish, namely, canto eight. '^ 

March 22d. ^'The poem is finished, and now only needs re- 
vision, which I begin to-day. But in the main, I have it as 
I want it.'^ 

Ayril 23d. ^Trinting Miles Standish, and seeing all its de- 
fects as it stands before me in type/' 

The book did not appear till October. On the 16th 
of that month the following entry was made : — 

'^ The Courtship of Miles Standish pubhshed. At noon Tick- 
nor told me he had sold five thousand in Boston, besides the 
orders from a distance. He had printed ten thousand, and 
has another ten thousand in press.'' On the 23rd he wrote, 
'^ Between these two Saturdays, Miles Standish has marched 
steadily on. Another five thousand are in press ; in all an 
army of twenty-five thousand, — in one week. Fields tells 
me that in London ten thousand were sold the first day." 

Whittier and Snow-Bound 

Whittier's birth-year was the same as Longfellow's, 
and their reputations grew side by side. They became 
the most popular American poets abroad as well as in 
America. ^^This parallelism in their fame makes it 
the more interesting to remember that Whittier was 



xxxil INTRODUCTION ^ 

born within five miles of the Longfellow homestead, \ 
where the grandfather of his brother poet was born. | 
Always friends, though never intimate, they represented j 
through life two quite different modes of rearing and ] 
education. Longfellow was the most widely trav- i 
elled author of the Boston circle, Whittier the least so ; ; 
Longfellow spoke a variety of languages, Whittier only ' 
his own ; Longfellow had whatever the American college \ 
of his time could give him, Whittier had none of it; \ 
Longfellow had the habits of a man of the world, Whit- ^ 
tier those of a recluse ; Longfellow touched reform but : 
Hghtly, Whittier was essentially imbued with it ; Long- 
fellow had children and grandchildren, while Whittier : 
led a single life. Yet in certain gifts, apart from poetic ] 
quahty, they were alike; both being modest, serene, \ 
unselfish, brave, industrious, and generous. They i 
either shared, or made up between them, many of the \ 
most estimable quahties that mark poet or man.'' ^ 

Whittier was a boy of the farm, Longfellow of the town. \ 
Snow-Bound is a memory of country joys as serene and 
beautiful in its way as The Cotter^s Saturday Night or : 
The Deserted Village. Whittier has been called the 

1 A Reader^ s History of American Literature^ by T. W. Hig- ; 
ginson and H. W. Boynton. \ 



INTRODUCTION xxxill 

Burns of America. We know that a volume of Burns 
first awoke his poetic ambition ; and it is certain that he 
is our greatest singer. Even Longfellow ^^ composed 
poems/' while Whittier burst spontaneously and some- 
times rudely into song. 

The scene of Snow-Bound can easily be visited. The 
Whittier homestead in East Haverhill has been bought 
and restored, and is to be kept as a memorial of the poet. 
Even the old furniture of his boyhood has much of it 
been returned to its place. The persons of the poem are 
the members of Whittier's own family, the district 
school-teacher, and another guest who had made a 
strong impression on the boy's imagination. 

Whittier's family were Quakers, and he disbelieved 
in war. But his was a fighting spirit, and much of his 
early verse was written against slavery. When the 
Civil War broke out, his voice could not be silent. But 
it is in poems like Snow-Bound, poems of his own 
place and his own people, that his voice is clearest and 
sweetest. 



THE RIME 
OP THE ANCIENT MARINER 



IN SEVEN PARTS 



Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in 
rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enar- 
rabit ? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera ? 
Quid agunt? quae loca habitant? Harum rerum notitiam semper 
ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, non 
diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabula, majoris et melioris 
mundi imaginem contemplari : ne mens assuefacta hodiernse vitse 
minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. 
Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa 
ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus. — T. Buknet, Archoeol. PldL, 

p. 68. 

ARGUMENT 

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the 
cold Country towards the South Pole : and how from thence she 
made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean ; 
and of the strange things that befell ; and in what manner the An- 
cyent Marinere came back to his own Country. (1798.) 

Part I 

It° is an ancient Mariner, Marinel^''* 

And he stoppeth one of three. ^-J^^^l IJl^- ^ 

'' By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, feas\1nd^dX" 

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? taineth one. 

B 1 



SELECTED POEMS 



The Wedding- 
Guest is spell- 
bound by the 
eye of the old 
sea-faring man, 
and canstrained 
to hear his tale. 



The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, 
And I am next of kin ; 6 

The guests are met, the feast is set : 
May'st hear the merry din/' 

He° holds him with his skinny hand, 
^^ There was a ship,'' quoth he. lo 

^^ Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon ! " 
Eftsoons° his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering eye — 
The Wedding-Guest stood still, 

And listens like a three years' child : 15 
The Mariner hath his will. 



The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : 
He cannot choose but hear ; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 



20 



'' The ship was cheered, the harbour 
cleared. 

Merrily did we drop 
Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the lighthouse top. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



The Sun came up upon the left,° 25 

Out of the sea came he ! 
And he shone bright, and on the right 

Went down into the sea. 

Higher and higher every day, 

Till over the mast at noon° — '' 30 

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, ° 

For he heard the loud bassoon. 



The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward with 
a good wind and 
fair weather, till 
it reached the 
Line. 



The bride hath paced into the hall. 

Red as a rose is she ; 
Nodding their heads before her goes 

The merry minstrelsy. 



35 



The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal 
music ; but the 
Mariner con- 
tinueth his tale. 



The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, 
Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 40 



^^ And now the Storm-blast came, and he 

Was tyrannous and strong : 
He struck with his overtaking wings. 

And chased us south along. 



The ship drawn 
by a storm 
toward the 
south pole. 



4 SELECTED POEMS \ 

With sloping masts and dipping prow, 45 \ 
As who pursued with yell and blow \ 

Still treads the shadow of his foe, \ 

And forward bends his head, \ 

The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast. 

And southward aye we fled. 50 ; 

And now there came both mist and snow, j 

And it grew wondrous cold : \ 

And ice, mast-high, came floating by, \ 
As green as emerald. 

Ind oMiaffuf * ^^d through the drifts the snowy cHfts 55 ; 

f^ng^hi^^ I^id send a dismal sheen : . \ 

to be seen. j^qj. gh^pes of men uor beasts we ken — i 

The ice was all between. ^ 

The ice was here, the ice was there, i 

The ice was all around : 60 j 

It cracked and growled, and roared and j 

howled, j 

Like noises in a swound° ! i 

wMue^dSr At length did cross an Albatross, I 

^V^oiXthe''"'" Thorough^ the fog it came ; 1 

^^ivld"^ As if it had been a Christian soul, 65 ! 
Steltalit^. We hailed it in God's name. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 

It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 

And round and round it flew. 
The ice did spht with a thunder-fit° ; 

The helmsman steered us through! 70 



And a good south wind sprung up behind ; 

The Albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 

Came to the mariner's hollo ! 



Andlo! the Al- 
batross proveth 
a bird of good 
omen, and fol- 
loweth the ship 
as it returned 
northward 
through fog and 
floating ice. 



In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 75 

It perched for vespers nine ; 
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke 
white, 

Ghmmered the white moon-shine.'' 

'' God save thee, "^ ancient Mariner, 79 The ancient 

' ' Manner mhos- 

From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — pitabiy kiiieth 

' ^ ^ the pious bird of 

Why look'st thou so ? " — ^' With my g^o^ ^^^en. 
cross-bow 
I shot the Albatross. 



Part II 

The Sun now rose upon the right. ° 
Out of the sea came he, 



SELECTED POEMS 



Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 



85 



His shipmates 
cry out against 
the ancient 
Mariner, for 
killing the bird 
of good luck. 



But when the 
fog cleared off, 
they justify the 
same, and thus 
make them- 
selves accom- 
plices in the 
crime. 



The fair breeze 
continues ; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails north- 
ward, even till it 
reachestheLine. 



And the good south wind still blew behind, 

But no sweet bird did follow, 
Nor any day for food or play 

Came to the mariner^s hollo ! 90 

And I had done a hellish thing, 

And it would work 'em woe : 
For all averred, I had killed the bird 

That made the breeze to blow. 
Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 95 

That made the breeze to blow ! 

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head 

The glorious Sun uprist : 
Then all averred, I had killed the bird 

That brought the fog and mist. lOO 

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, 

That bring the fog and mist. 

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 

The furrow followed free ; 
We were the first that ever burst 105 

Into that silent sea ! 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 7 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt bi'en^s^uddenly 

Jq^j^ becalmed. 

'Twas sad as sad could be ; 
And we did speak only to break 

The silence of the sea ! no 

All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody Sun, at noon. 
Right up above the mast did stand, 

No bigger than the Moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 115 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
As idle as a painted ship 

Upon a painted ocean. 



Water, water, everywhere. 

And all the boards did shrink ; 

Water, water, everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink. 



And the Alba- 
tross begins to 
J20 ^® avenged. 



The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 

That ever this should be ! 
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 125 

Upon the slimy sea. 



SELECTED POEMS 



A Spirit had fol- 
lowed them ; ^ 
one of the invisi- 
ble inhabitants 
of this planet, 
neither de- 
parted souls nor 
angels ; concern- 
ing whom the 
learned Jew, 
Josephus, and 
the Platonic 
Constantinopol- 
itan, Michael 
Psellus, may be 
consulted. They 
are very numer- 
ous, and there is 
no climate or 
element without 
one or more. 

The shipmates, 
in their sore dis- 
tress, would fain 
throw the whole 
guilt on the an- 
cient Mariner; 
in sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his neck. 



130 



About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires° danced at night ; 

The water, like a witch's oils, 

Burnt green, and blue, and white. 

And some in dreams assured were 
Of the spirit that plagued us so ; 

Nine fathom deep he had followed us 
From the land of mist and snow. 



And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was withered at the root ; 136 

We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. 

Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks 

Had I from old and young ! 140 

Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 

Part III 

There passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time ! a weary time ! 145 

How glazed each weary eye, 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



When looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist ; 150 

It moved and moved, and took at last 

A certain shape, I wist. 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 

And still it neared and neared : 
As if it dodged a water-sprite, 155 

It plunged and tacked and veered. 

With throats unslaked, with black lips 
baked. 

We could nor laugh nor wail ; 
Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, 160 

And cried, A sail, a sail ! 

With throats unslaked, with black lips 
baked, 

Agape they heard me call : 
Gramercy ! they for joy did grin,° 
And all at once their breath drew in, 165 

As they were drinking all. 



The ancient 
Mariner behold- 
eth a sign in the 
element afar ofF. 



At its nearer 
approach, it 
seemeth him to 
be a ship ; and 
at a dear ran- 
som he freeth 
his speech from 
the bonds of 
thirst. 



A flash of joy; 



10 



SELECTED POEMS 



i^wl^Fof cln" ^^^ ' see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! 
it be a ship that Hither to work us weal ; 

comes onward ' 

wHhoutwindor Without a breczc, without a tide, 

She steadies with upright keel ! 170 

The western wave was all a-flame, 
The day was well-nigh done ! 

Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun ; 

When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 176 



It seemeth him 
but the skele- 
ton of a ship. 



And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven's Mother send us grace !) 

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered 
With broad and burning face. 180 

Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 

Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 



And its ribs are ^j.^ those her ribs through which the Sun 

seen as bars on ~ 

the face of the 
setting Sun. 

And is that Woman all her crew ? 



Did peer, as through a grate ? 



186 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



11 



Is that a Death° and are there two ? 
Is Death that Woman's mate ? 

Her hps were red, her looks were free, 

Her locks were yellow as gold : 
Her skin was as white as leprosy, 
The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 
Who thicks man's blood with cold. 



190 



The Spectre- 
Woman and her 
Death-mate, 
and no other on 
board the skele- 
ton ship. 

lyike vessel, like 
crew ! 



The naked hulk alongside came, 
And the twain were casting dice ; 



195 



Death and Life- 
in-Death have 
diced for the 
ship's crew, and 

' The game is done ! Fve won ! I Ve won ! ' ^h^ (the latter) 

^ wmneth the an- 

cient Mariner. 



Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 

The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : 
At one stride comes the dark ; 

With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre-bark. 

We hstened and looked sideways up ! 
Fear at my heart, as at a cup. 

My life-blood seemed to sip ! 205 

The stars were dim, and thick the night. 
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed 
white ; 

From the sails the dew did drip — 



No twilight 
within the 
200 courts of the 
Sun. 



At the rising of 
the Moon, 



12 



SELECTED POEMS 



Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned Moon, with one bright star 210 
Within the nether tip.° 



One after 
another, 



One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, 

Too quick for groan or sigh. 
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, 

And cursed me with his eye. 215 



Four times fifty living men, 
dropdSlad. (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) 
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
They dropped down one by one. 



But Life-in- 

Death begins 
her work on the 
ancientMariner. 



The souls did from their bodies fly, — 

They fled to bliss or woe ! 
And every soul, it passed me by. 

Like the whizz of my cross-bo w° ! '' 



220 



The Wedding- 
Guest feareth 
that a Spirit is 
talking to him; 



Part IV 

^^ I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 

I fear thy skinny hand ! 225 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 

As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



13 



I fear thee and thy gUttering eye, 
And thy skinny hand, so brown/' — 

^^ Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
This body dropt not down. 231 



But the ancient 
Mariner assur- 
eth him of his 
bodily life, and 
proceedeth to 
relate his horri- 
ble penance. 



Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide wide sea ! 

And never a saint took pity on 
My soul in agony. 



235 



The many men, so beautiful ! 

And they all dead did lie : 
And a thousand thousand sUmy things 

Lived on ; and so did I. 



He despiseth 
the creatures of 
the calm. 



I looked upon the rotting sea. 
And drew my eyes away ; 

I looked upon the rotting deck, 
And there the dead men lay. 



240 



And envieth 
that they 
should live, and 
so many lie 
dead. 



I looked to Heaven, and tried to pray ; 

But or ever a prayer had gusht, 245 

A wicked whisper came, and made 

My heart as dry as dust. 



14 SELECTED POEMS 

I closed my lids, and kept them close, 
And the balls like pulses beat ; 

For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the 
sky 250 

Lay like a load on my weary ej^e. 
And the dead were at my feet. 

But the curse ^he cold sweat melted from their Hmbs, 

livetn for nun in ' 

the eye of the ^qj; j-q^ nor reek did they : 

aead men. ^ 

The look with which they looked on me 255 
Had never passed away. 

An orphan's curse would drag to Hell 

A spirit from on high ; 
But oh ! more horrible than that 

Is a curse in a dead man's eye ! 260 

Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse. 

And yet I could not die. 

In his loneliness ^he moviug Moou wcut up the sky, 

and fixedness he ^ l- j j . 

yearneth And uo whcrc did abide : 

towards the 

Soon^'ind the ^oftly she was going up, 265 

stars that still ^ud a star or two beside — 

sojourn, yet 
still move on- 

^^r^wh^rt the "^^^ bcams bemocked the sultry main, 
blue sky belongs Ljj^g ^pj-Q hoar-f rost Spread ; 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



15 



But where the ship^s huge shadow lay, 
The charmed water burnt alway 270 

A still and awful red. 

Beyond the shadow of the ship, 

I watched the water-snakes : 
They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they reared, the elfish light 275 

Fell off in hoary flakes. 

Within the shadow of the ship 

I watched their rich attire : 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coiled and swam ; and every track 

Was a flash of golden fire. 281 



to them, and is . 
their appointed 
rest, and their 
native country 
and their own 
natural homes, 
which they 
enter unan- 
nounced, as 
lords that are 
certainly ex- 
pected and yet 
there is a silent 
joy at their 
arrival. 

By the light of 
the Moon he be- 
holdeth God's 
creatures of the 
great calm. 



happy living things ! no tongue 

Their beauty might declare : 
A spring of love gushed from my heart, 

And I blessed them unaware : 285 

Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 

And I blessed them unaware. 



Their beauty 
and their 
happiness. 

He blesseth 
them in his 
heart. 



The selfsame moment I could pray ; 
And from my neck so free 



The spell begins 
to break. 



16 



SELECTED POEMS 



The Albatross fell off,° and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 



290 



Part V 

Oh sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 

Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 295 

That slid into my soul. 



ho^/Mo?hirf^^ The silly° buckets on the deck, 
MariDer'fiV That had so long remained, 
^tiin^^ ^^^^ I dreamt that they were filled with dew ; 
And when I awoke, it rained. 300 

My lips were wet, my throat was cold. 
My garments all were dank ; 

Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
And still my body drank. 

I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 305 

I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep. 

And was a blessed ghost.° 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 17 

And soon I heard a roaring wind : Sunls a^nd 

It did not come anear ; 310 ^Jghts aS^fom- 

But with its sound it shook the sails, Ty'^nl the efe- 

That were so thin and sere. ^®^*' 

The upper air burst into Ufe ! 

And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 
To and fro they were hurried about ! 315 
And to and fro, and in and out. 

The wan stars danced between. 

And the coming wind did roar more loud, 

And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
And the rain poured down from one black 
cloud; , 320 

The Moon was at its edge. 

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 

The Moon was at its side : 
Like waters shot from some high crag. 
The hghtning fell with never a jag, 325 

A river steep and wide. 

The loud wind never reached the ship, S'e^hfp^'i^crfw 

Yet now the ship moved on ! 



18 



SELECTED POEMS 



are inspired, 
and the ship 
moves on ; 



Beneath the Ughtning and the Moon 
The dead men gave a groan. 



330 



They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose. 
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 

It had been strange, even in a dream, 
To have seen those dead men rise. 

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on ; 
Yet never a breeze up blew ; 336 

The mariners all 'gan work the ropes. 

Where they were wont to do ; 
They raised their limbs like hfeless tools — 

We were a ghastly crew. 340 

The body of my brother's son 

Stood by me, knee to knee : 
The body and I pulled at one rope. 

But he said nought to me/' 



But not by the 
souls of the men, 
nor by daemons 
of earth or mid- 
dle air, but by a 
blessed troop of 
angelic spirits, 
sent down by 
the invocation 
of the guardian 
saint. 



'' I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! '' 

'' Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. 
Which to their corses came again, 
But a troop of spirits blest : 



345 



THE RIME OF T^E ANCIENT MARINER 

For when it dawned — they dropped their 
arms, 350 

And clustered round the mast ; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their 
mouths, 
And from their bodies passed. 

Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the Sun ; 355 

Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mixed, now one by one. 

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 

I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
Sometimes all little birds that are, 360 

How they seemed to fill the sea and air 

With their sweet jargoning ! 

And now 'twas like all instruments. 

Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angePs song, 365 

That makes the Heavens be mute. 

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon. 



20 



SELECTED POEMS 



The lonesome 
Spirit from the 
south-pole car- 
ries on the ship 
as far as the 
Line, in obedi- 
ence to the an- 
gelic troop, but 
still requireth 
vengeance. 



A noise like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 370 

That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune. 

Till noon we quietly sailed on, 
Yet never a breeze did breathe : 

Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 375 
Moved onward from beneath. 

Under the keel nine fathom deep, 
From the land of mist and snow, 

The Spirit slid : and it was he 

That made the ship to go. 380 

The sails at noon left off their tune. 
And the ship stood still also. 

The Sun, right up above the mast, 

Had fixed her to the ocean : 
But in a minute she 'gan stir, 385 

With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length, 

With a short uneasy motion. 



Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound : 



390 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



21 



It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 



How long in that same fit I lay, 

I have not to declare, 
But ere my living life returned, 395 

I heard and in my soul discerned 

Two voices in the air. 

' Is it he ? ' quoth one, ' Is this the man ? 

By Him who died on cross. 
With his cruel bow he laid full low 400 

The harmless Albatross. 



The Polar 
Spirit's fellow- 
daemons, the in- 
visible inhabit- 
ants of the ele- 
ment, take part 
in his wrong ; 
and two of them 
relate, one to 
the other, that 
penance long 
and heavy for 
the ancient 
Mariner hath 
been accorded 
to the Polar 
Spirit, who re- 
turneth south- 
ward. 



The Spirit who bideth by himself 

In the land of mist and snow. 
He loved the bird that loved the man 

Who shot him with his bow.' 405 



The other was a softer voice. 

As soft as honey-dew : 
Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 

And penance more will do.' 



22 



SELECTED POEMS 



Part VI 



FIRST VOICE 



' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 4io 
Thy soft response renewing — 

What makes that ship drive on so fast ? 
What is the ocean doing ? ^ 



SECOND VOICE 



^ Still as a slave before his lord, 
The ocean hath no blast ; 

His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast — 



415 



The Mariner 
hath been cast 
into a trance ; 
for the angelic 
power caiiseth 
the vessel to 
drive northward 
faster than 
human life 
could endure. 



If he may know which way to go ; 

For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 

She looketh down on him.' 



420 



FIRST VOICE 



' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? ' 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 23 

SECOND VOICE 

' The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 425 

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 

Or we shall be belated : 
For slow and slow that ship will go. 

When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 

I woke, and we were sailing on 430 ^^ mo^fo^n'is r"^ 

As in a gentle weather : [nerlwakes!'^^'" 

Twas night, calm night, the Moon was begins'aSew!''''^ 
high. 
The dead men stood together. 

All stood together on the deck. 

For a charnel-dungeon fitter : 435 

All fixed on me their stony eyes. 
That in the Moon did glitter. 

The pang, the curse, with which they died, 

Had never passed away : 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 440 

Nor turn them up to pray. 



24 SELECTED POEMS 

The curse is And HOW this spell was snapt : once more 

finally expiated. -.- • ^ ^^ 

1 Viewed the ocean green, 
And looked far forth, yet httle saw 

Of what had else been seen — 445 

Like one, that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread, 

And, having once turned round, walks on. 
And turns no more his head ; 

Because he knows, a frightful fiend 450 
Doth close behind him tread. 

But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
Nor sound nor motion made : 

Its path was not upon the sea. 

In ripple or in shade. 455 

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 

It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 460 

Yet she sailed softly too : 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 

On me alone it blew. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



25 



Oh ! dream of joy° ! is this indeed 
The Hghthouse top I see ? 

Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? 
Is this mine own countree ? 



465 



And the ancient 
Mariner behold- 
eth his native 
country. 



We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, 
And I with sobs did pray — 

O let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway. 



470 



The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 

And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
And the shadow of the Moon. 



475 



The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, 
That stands above the rock : 

The moonlight steeped in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 



And the bay was white with silent light, 
Till rising from the same, 481 

Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
In crimson colours came. 



The angelic 
spirits leave the 
dead bodies, 



26 SELECTED POEMS 

4dr o^wnYorms ^ l^^tl^ distaiice from the prow 
of light. Those crimson shadows were : 



485 



I turned my eyes upon the deck — 
Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! 

Each corse lay flat, Ufeless and flat, 

And, by the holy rood ! 
A man all light, a seraph-man, 490 

On every corse there stood. 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand : 

It was a heavenly sight ! 
They stood as signals to the land, 

Each one a lovely light ; 495 

This seraph-band, each waved his hand. 

No voice did they impart — 
No voice; but oh ! the silence sank 

Like music on my heart. 

But soon I heard the dash of oars, 500 

I heard the Pilot^s cheer ; 
My head was turned perforce away. 

And I saw a boat appear. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 27 

The Pilot and the Pilot^s boy, 

I heard them coming fast : 505 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
The dead men could not blast. 

I saw a third — I heard his voice : 

It is the Hermit good ! 
He singeth loud his godly hymns 5io 

That he makes in the wood. 
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 

The Albatross's blood. 

Part VII 

This Hermit good Hves in that wood Si^^Wood '* °^ 

Which slopes down to the sea. 515 

How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 

He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree.. 

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 
He hath a cushion plump : 520 

It is the moss that wholly hides 
The rotted old oak-stump. 



wonder. 



28 SELECTED POEMS 

The skiff-boat neared : I heard them talk, 
' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 

Where are those hghts so many and fair. 
That signal made but now ? ' 526 

fh^e'^sC^^^^ ' Strange, by my faith ! ' the Hermit said — 

' And they answered not our cheer ! 

The planks look warped ! and see those \ 

sails, : 

How thin they are and sere ! 530 \ 

I never saw aught like to them, \ 

Unless perchance it were \ 

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 

My forest-brook along ; 
When the ivy-tod° is heavy with snow, 535 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below. 

That eats the she-wolf's young.' j 

' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look — i 

(The Pilot made reply) \ 

I am a-f eared ' — ^ Push on, push on ! ' 540 i 

Said the Hermit cheerily. \ 

The boat came closer to the ship, 

But I nor spake nor stirred ; i 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 



29 



The boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard. 545 

Under the water it rumbled on, 

Still louder and more dread : 
It reached the ship, it split the bay ; 

The ship went down like lead. 

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, 
Which sky and ocean smote, 551 

Like one that hath been seven days 
drowned 
My body lay afloat ; 

But swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the Pilot's boat. 555 

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat spun round and round ; 

And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 



The ship sud- 
denly sinketh. 



The ancient 
Mariner is 
saved in the 
Pilot's boat. 



I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked 

And fell down in a fit ; 
The holy Hermit raised his eyes. 

And prayed where he did sit. 



560 



30 



SELECTED POEMS 



1 took the oars : the Pilot's boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 565 

Laughed loud and long, and all the while 
His eyes went to and fro. 

' Ha, ha ! ' quoth he, ' full plain I see, 
The Devil knows how to row/ 

And now, all in my own countree, 570 

I stood on the firm land ! 
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat. 

And scarcely he could stand. 



The ancient 
Mariner ear- 
nestly entreat- 
eth the Hermit 
to shrieve him ; 
and the penance 
of life falls on 
him. 



And ever and 
anon through- 
out his future 
life an agony 
constraineth 
him to travel 
from land to 
laud, 



' shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ' 
The Hermit crossed his brow, 575 

^ Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ' 

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched 

With a woful agony. 
Which forced me to begin my tale ; 580 

And then it left me free. 

Since then, at an uncertain hour, 

That agony returns ; 
And till my ghastly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 585 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 31 

I pass, like night, from land to land ; 

I have strange power of speech ; 
That moment that his face I see, 
I know the man that must hear me : 

To him my tale I teach. 590 

What loud uproar bursts from that door ! 
The wedding-guests are there : 

But in the garden-bower the bride 

And bride-maids singing are : 
And hark the little vesper bell, 595 

Which biddeth me to prayer ! 

Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 

Alone on a wide wide sea : 
So lonely 'twas, that God himself 

Scarce seemed there to be. 600 

sweeter than the marriage-feast, 

'Tis sweeter far to me. 
To walk together to the kirk 

With a goodly company ! — 

To walk together to the kirk, 605 

And all together pray, 



32 SELECTED POEMS 

While each to his great Father bends, 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

by tisVwn'ex- Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 6io 

?eTiencrtVaii To thee, thou Weddiug-Guest ! 

Sidf and lov-"^ He prayeth well, who loveth well 

®*^' Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best, who loveth best 

All things both great and small ; 615 

For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all/' 

The Mariner, whose eye is bright, 
Whose beard with age is hoar. 

Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest 620 
Turned from the bridegroom's door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned, 

And is of sense forlorn : 
A sadder and a wiser man, 

He rose the morrow morn. 625 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 
HORATIUS 

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX 

I 

Lars Porsena of Clusium 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin^ 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the Nine Gods he swore it, 5 

And named a trysting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth, 
East and west and south and north, 

To summon his array. 

II 

East and west and south and north lo 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

Who lingers in his home, 15 

When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome. 
D 33 



34 SELECTED POEMS 

III 

The horsemen and the footmen 

Are pouring in amain 
From many a stately market-place, 

From many a fruitful plain, 
From many a lonely hamlet, 

Which, hid by beech and pine, 
Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest 

Of purple Apennine ; 

IV 

From lordly Volaterrse, 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From seagirt Populonia, 

Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain tops 

Fringing the southern sky ; 

V 

From the proud mart of Pisse, 
Queen of the western waves. 

Where ride Massilia's triremes 
Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 35 

From where sweet Clanis wanders 
Through corn and vines and flowers ; 

From where Cortona hfts to heaven 40 

Her diadem of towers. 

VI 

Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 45 

Beyond all streams Clitumnus 

Is to the herdsman dear ; 
Best of all pools the fowler loves 

The great Volsinian mere. 

VII 

But now no stroke of woodman 60 

Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian hill ; 
Unwatched along Clitumnus 

Grazes the milk-white steer ; 55 

Unharmed the water-fowl may dip 

In the Volsinian mere. 



36 SELECTED POEMS 

VIII 

The harvests of Arretium, I 

This year, old men shall reap ; ^ 

This year, young boys in Umbro m 

Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; ' 

And in the vats of Luna, 

This year, the must shall foam 
Round the white feet of laughing girls 

Whose sires have marched to Rome. 65 

IX \ 
There be thirty chosen prophets, \ 

The wisest of the land, I 

Who alway by Lars Porsena \ 

Both morn and evening stand : i 

Evening and morn the Thirty 7o| 

Have turned the verses o'er, ! 
Traced from the right on linen white° 

By mighty seers of yore. 

X J 

And with one voice the Thirty j 

Have their glad answer given : 75 i 

" Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; 

Go forth, beloved of Heaven ; s 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 37 

Go, and return in glory 

To Clusium's royal dome ; 
And hang round Nursia's altars 80 

The golden shields of Rome/' 

XI 

And now hath every city 

Sent up her tale of men ; 
The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse are thousands ten. 85 

Before the gates of Sutrium 

Is met the great array. 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

Upon the trysting day. 

XII 

For all the Etruscan armies 90 

Were ranged beneath his eye, 
And many a banished Roman, 

And many a stout ally ; 
And with a mighty following 

To join the muster came 95 

The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 



38 SELECTED POEMS 

XIII 

But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright : 
From all the spacious champaign lOO 

To Rome men took their flight. 
A mile around the city, 

The throng stopped up the ways ; 
A fearful sight it was to see 

Through two long nights and days. 105 

XIV 

For aged folks on crutches, 

And women great with child. 
And mothers sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled. 
And sick men borne in litters no 

High on the necks of slaves. 
And troops of sun-burned husbandmen 

With reaping-hooks and staves, 

XV 

And droves of mules and asses 

Laden with skins of wine, 115 

And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 

And endless herds of kine, 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 39 

And endless trains of wagons 

That creaked beneath the weight 

Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 120 

Choked every roaring gate. 

XVI 

Now, from the rock Tarpeian, 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 125 

The Fathers of the City, 

They sat all night and day. 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidings of dismay. 

XVII 

To eastward and to westward 130 

Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote 

In Crustumerium stands. 
Verbenna down to Ostia 

Hath wasted all the plain ; 135 

Astur hath stormed Janiculum, 

And the stout guards are slain. 



40 SELECTED POEMS 1 

■i 

XVIII 1 

I wis, in all the Senate, \ 

There was no heart so bold, ^ ■ 

But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 140 ] 

When that ill news was* told. i 

Forthwith up rose the Consul, ^ | 

Up rose the Fathers all ; I 

In haste they girded up their gowns, : 

And hied them to the wall. 145 

XIX ! 

They held a council standing, I 

Before the River-Gate ; I 

Short time was there, ye well may guess, \ 

For musing or debate. j 

Out spake the Consul roundly : 150 i 

" The bridge must straight go down ; j 

For, since Janiculum is lost, I 

Nought else can save the town.^' ; 

XX * j 
Just then a scout came flying. 

All wild with haste and fear : 155 
'^ To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul : 

Lars Porsena is here.^' 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 41 

On the low hills to westward 

The Consul fixed his eye, 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 160 

Rise fast along the sky. 

XXI 

And nearer fast and nearer 

Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
And louder still and still more loud, 
From underneath that rolling cloud, 165 

Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, 

The trampling, and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears, 
Far to left and far to right, 170 

In broken gleams of dark-blue light. 
The long array of helmets bright. 

The long array of spears. 

XXII 

And plainly and more plainly. 

Above that glimmering line, 175 

Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 



42 SELECTED POEMS 

But the banner of proud Clusium 

Was highest of them all, 
The terror of the Umbrian, 180 

The terror of the Gaul. 

XXIII 

And plainly and more plainly 

Now might the burghers know, 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucumo. 185 

There Cilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen; 
And Astur of the fourfold shield, 
Girt with the brand none else may wield, 
Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 190 

And dark Verbenna from the hold 

By reedy Thrasymene. 

XXIV 

Fast by the royal standard, 

Overlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clusium 195 

Sat in his ivory car. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT HOME 43 

By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame. ° 200 

XXV 

But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. 
On the house-tops was no woman 205 

But spat towards him and hissed, 
No child but screamed out curses. 

And shook its little fist. 

XXVI 

But the ConsuFs brow was sad, 

And the ConsuFs speech was low, 210 

And darkly looked he at the wall. 

And darkly at the foe. 
'' Their van will be upon us 

Before the bridge goes down ; 
And if they once may win the bridge, 215 

What hope to save the town ? ^' 



44 SELECTED POEMS 

XXVII 

Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captain of the Gate : 
^^ To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late. 220 

And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his Gods, 

XXVIII 

'^ And for the tender mother 225 

Who dandled him to rest, 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame, 230 

To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

XXIX 

" Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 235 

Will hold the foe in play. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 45 

In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me ? ^' 240 

XXX 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 

A Ramnian proud was he : 
'^ Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge with thee/^ 
And out spake strong Herminius 245 

Of Titian blood was he : 
'^ I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee.'' 

XXXI 

^' Horatius,'' quoth the Consul, 

'^ As thou sayest, so let it be." 250 

And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless Three. 
For Romans in Rome^s quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 255 

In the brave days of old. 



46 SELECTED POEMS ] 

\ 
1 

XXXII ] 

Then none was for a party, J 

Then all were for the state ; "] 

Then the great men helped the poor, J 

And the poor man loved the great : 260 ' 

Then lands were fairly portioned ; i 

Then spoils were fairly sold : \ 

The Romans were like brothers ] 

In the brave days of old. 

XXXIII 

. Now Roman is to Roman 265 

More hateful than a foe, 
And the Tribunes beard the high, 

And the Fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction, 

In battle we wax cold : 270 

Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 

XXXIV 

Now while the Three were tightening 

Their harness on their backs, 
The Consul was the foremost man 275 

To take in hand an axe : 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 47 

And Fathers mixed with Commons 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 280 

XXXV 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, * 
Came flashing back the noonday light, 
Rank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 285 

Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warhke glee. 
As that great host, with measured tread. 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 290 

Where stood the dauntless Three. 

XXXVI 

The Three stood calm and silent. 

And looked upon the foes. 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 295 



48 SELECTED POEMS : 

And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, 
And Hfted high their shields, and flew ^ 

To win the narrow way ; 300 j 

I 

XXXVII I 

Annus from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves : 

Sicken in Ilva's mines ; j 

And Picus, long to Clusium 305 | 

Vassal in peace and war, | 

Who led to fight his Umbrian powers ' 

From that gray crag where, girt with towers, 
The fortress of Nequinum lowers \ 

O'er the pale waves of Nar. 3io 

XXXVIII 

Stout Lartius hurled down Annus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Herminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth : \ 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 49 

At Picus brave Horatius 3i5 

Darted one fiery thrust ; 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

XXXIX 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 

Rushed on the Roman Three ; 320 

And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns of Volsinium, 

Who slew the great wild boar, 
The great wild boar that had his den 325 

Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, 
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 

Along Albinia's shore. 

XL 

Herminius smote down Aruns : 

Lartius laid Ocnus low : 330 

Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow. 
'^ Lie there, '^ he cried, ^' fell pirate ! 

No more^ aghast and pale, 



60 SELECTED POEMS 

From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 335 
The track of thy destroying bark. 
No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns when they spy 
Thy thrice-accursed sail/' 

XLI 

But now no sound of laughter 340 

Was heard among the foes. 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' length from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 345 

And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 

XLII 

But hark ! the cry is Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great Lord of Luna 350 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

Which none but he can wield. 355 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 61 

XLIII 

He smiled on those bold Romans 

A smile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, '^ The she-wolf^s Utter 360 

Stand savagely at bay : 
But will ye dare. to follow, 

If Astur clears the way ? '' 

XLIV 

Then, whirling up his broadsword 

With both hands to the height, 365 

He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 
With shield and blade Horatius 

Right deftly turned the blow. 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 371 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood flow. 

XLV 

He reeled, and on Herminius 

He leaned one breathing-space ; 375 



62 SELECTED POEMS 

Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet 

So fierce a thrust he sped. 
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 381 

XLVI 

And the great Lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke. 
As falls on Mount Alvernus 

A thunder-smitten oak. 385 . 

Far o'er the crashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
And the pale augurs, muttering low, 

Gaze on the blasted head. 

XLVII 

On Astur's throat Horatius 390 \ 

Right firmly pressed his heel .; 
And thrice and four times tugged amain. 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
*' And see,'' he cried, ^^ the welcome. 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 395 ] 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 53 j 

i 

What noble Lucumo comes next ] 

To taste our Roman cheer ? '' i 

\ 

XLVIII I 

But at his haughty challenge ,\ 

A sullen murmur ran, I 

Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, 400 | 

Along that glittering van. I 
There lacked not men of prowess, 

Nor men of lordly race ; ! 

For all Etrurians noblest ] 

Were round the fatal place. 405 j 

XLIX 

But all Etrurians noblest j 

Felt their hearts sink to see - 
On the earth the bloody corpses. 

In the path the dauntless Three : ; 

And from the ghastly entrance 4io 

Where those bold Romans stood, i 

All shrank, like boys who unaware, j 

Ranging the woods to start a hare, ^ 

Come to the mouth of the dark lair i 

Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 415 i 

Lies amidst bones and blood. 



64 SELECTED POEMS 

L 

Was none who would be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried, ^' Forward ! '' 

And those before cried, '^ Back ! '' 420 

And backward now and forward 

Wavers the deep array ; 
And on the tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards reel ; 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 425 

Dies fitfully away. 

LI 

Yet one man for one moment 

Stood out before the crowd ; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting loud. 430 

^^ Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome/' 

LII 

Thrice looked he at the city ; 435 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 55 

And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread : 

And, white with fear and hatred. 

Scowled at the narrow way 440 

Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 
The bravest Tuscans lay. 

LIII 

But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 445 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! '' 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
'' Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! '' 450 

LIV 

Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 

Herminius darted back : 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 455 

And on the farther shore 



56 SELECTED POEMS 

Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
They would have crossed once more. 

LV 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

LVI 

And like a horse unbroken 

When first he feels the rein. 
The furious river struggled hard, 

And tossed his tawny mane. 
And burst the curb, and bounded. 

Rejoicing to be free, 
And whirling down, in fierce career. 
Battlement, and plank, and pier, 

Rushed headlong to the sea. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 57 \ 

i 

LVII 

Alone stood brave Horatius, i 

But constant still in mind ; \ 

Thrice thirty thousand foes before, \ 

And the broad flood behind. ; 

'^ Down with him ! '^ cried false Sextus, 480 

With a smile on his pale face. j 

" Now yield thee/' cried Lars Porsena, ^ 

'^ Now yield thee to our grace/' 

LVIII 

Round turned he, as not deigning \ 

Those craven ranks to see ; 485 ] 

Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, \ 

To Sextus nought spake he ; 

But he saw on Palatinus ; 

The white porch of his home ; i 

And he spake to the noble river 490 i 

That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

LIX ! 

" Oh, Tiber ! father Tiber ! j 

To whom the Romans pray, \ 



68 SELECTED POEMS 

A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 

Take thou in charge this day/' 495 

So he spake, and speaking sheathed 
The good sword by his side, 

And with his harness on his back, 
Plunged headlong in the tide. 

LX 1 

No sound of joy or sorrow 500 

Was heard from either bank ; ' 

But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, , 

With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank ; ' 

And when above the surges 505 \ 

They saw his crest appear. 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, \ 

And even the ranks of Tuscany j 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. j 

LXI ! 

But fiercely ran the current, 5io i 
Swollen high by months of rain : 

And fast his blood was flowing, \ 

And he was sore in pain, ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME ' 69 

And heavy with his armor, 

And spent with changing blows : 515 

And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still again he rose. 

LXII 

Never, I ween, did swimmer, 

In such an evil case. 
Struggle through such a raging flood 520 

Safe to the landing-place : 
But his hmbs were borne up bravely . 

By the brave heart within. 
And our good father Tiber 

Bore bravely up his chin.^ 525 

LXIII 

^' Curse on him ! ^^ quoth false Sextus ; 
'^ Will not the villain drown ? 

^ " Our ladye bare upp her chinne." 

** Ballad of Childe Waters." 
'* Never heavier man and horse 
Stemmed a midnight torrent's force ; 

9i: 4: * ^ :f: * 

Yet, through good heart and our Lady's grace, 
At length he gained the landing-place." 

** Lay of the last Minstrel," I. 



60 SELECTED POEMS 

But for this stay, ere close of day 

We should have sacked the town ! '^ | 

'' Heaven help him ! '^ quoth Lars Porsena, 530 j 
'^ x\nd bring him safe to shore ; 

For such a gallant feat of arms i 

Was never seen before/' j 

LXIV 

And now he feels the bottom ; j 

Now on dry earth he stands ; 535 \ 

Now round him throng the Fathers j 

To press his gory hands ; \ 
And now, with shouts and clapping, 

And noise of weeping loud, 

He enters through the River-Gate, 540 \ 

Borne by the joyous crowd. \ 

LXV 

They gave him of the corn-land, \ 

That was of public right, ; 

As much as two strong oxen 

Could plough from morn till night ; 545 j 

And they made a molten image, ' 

And set it up on high, \ 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROMS 61 

And there it stands unto this day 
To witness if I he. 

LXVI 

It stands in the Comitium,° * 550 

Plain for all folk to see ; 
Horatius in his harness, 

Halting upon one knee : 
And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold, » 555 

How valiantly he kept the bridge. 

In the brave days of old. 

LXVII 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Unto the men of Rome, 
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 560 

To charge the Volscian home ; 
And wives still pray to Juno 

For boys with hearts as bold 
As his who kept the bridge so well. 

In the brave days of old. 565 

LXVIII 

And in the nights of winter, 

When the cold north winds blow, 



62 SELECTED POEMS 

And the long howling of the wolves ; 

Is heard amidst the snow ; j 

When round the lonely cottage 570l 

Roars loud the tempest's din, \ 

And the good logs of Algidus \ 

Roar louder yet within; ] 

LXIX 

When the oldest cask is opened, \ 

And the largest lamp is lit ; ' 575 

When the chestnuts glow in the embers. 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 

Around the firebrands close ; 
When the girls are weaving baskets, 580 

And the lads are shaping bows ; 



LXX ; 

When the goodman mends his armor, ! 

And trims his helmet's plume ; \ 

When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 

Goes flashing through the loom : 585' 



LAYS OF ANCIENT HOME 63 

With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told, 
How well Horatiusjkept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 



THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS 

A LAY SUNG AT THE FEAST OF CASTOR AND POLLUX ON I 
THE IDES OF QUINTILIS IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY! 
CCCCLI \ 

I } 

I 

Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note ! ; 

Ho, lictors,^ clear the way ! ] 
The Knights will ride, in all their pride, 

Along the streets to-day. j 

To-day the doors and windows 5^ 

Are hung with garlands all, I 
From Castor in the Forum, 

To Mars without the wall. \ 

Each Knight is robed in purple, ; 

With olive each is crowned ; lol 
A gallant war-horse under each 

Paws haughtily the ground. i 

While flows the Yellow River,° ■ 

While stands the Sacred Hill,° 

64 ] 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 65 

The proud Ides of Quintilis^ 15 

Shall have such honor still. 
Gay are the Martian Kalends, 

December's Nones are gay, 
But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides, 

Shall be Rome's whitest day. 20 

II 

Unto the Great Twin Brethren 

We keep this solemn feast. 
Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren 

Came spurring from the east. 
They came o'er wild Parthenius 25 

Tossing in waves of pine, 
O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam. 

O'er purple Apennine, 
From where with flutes and dances 

Their ancient mansion rings, 30 

In lordly Lacedaemon, 

The City of two kings. 
To where, by Lake Regillus, 

Under the Porcian height, 
All in the lands of Tusculum, 35 

Was fought the glorious fight. 



66 SELECTED POEMS 



III , 

Now on the place of slaughter j 

Are cots and sheepfolds seen, i 
And rows of vines, and fields of wheat, 

And apple orchards green ; 40^ 

The swine crush the big acorns \ 

That fall from Corne's oaks. ; 

Upon the turf by the Fair Fount \ 

The reaper's pottage smokes. j 

The fisher baits his angle ; 45^ 

The hunter twangs his bow ; 

Little they think on those strong hmbs \ 

That moulder deep below. \ 

Little they think how sternly ] 

That day the trumpets pealed ; 50 j 

How in the slippery swamp of blood \ 

Warrior and war-horse reeled ; 

How wolves came with fierce gallop, * 

And crows on eager wings, ^ 

To tear the flesh of captains, 55 

And peck the eyes of kings ; i 

How thick the dead lay scattered ; 

Under the Porcian height ; - | 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 67 

How through the gates of Tusculum I 

Raved the wild stream of flight ; 60 ] 

And how the Lake Regillus 

Bubbled with crimson foam, i 

What time the Thirty Cities° \ 

Came forth to war with Rome. \ 

IV 1 

I 

But, Roman, when thou standest 65 j 

Upon that holy ground, ] 
Look thou with heed on the dark rock 

That girds the dark lake round. 
So shalt thou see a hoof-mark 

Stamped deep into the flint : 70 ^ 

It was no hoof of mortal steed i 

That made so strange a dint : j 

There to the Great Twin Brethren \ 

Vow thou thy vows, and pray \ 

That they, in tempest and in fight, 75 

Will keep thy head alway. 

V i 

Since last the Great Twin Brethren ' 
Of mortal eyes were seen. 



68 SELECTED POEMS 

Have years gone by an hundred 

And fourscore and thirteen. m 

That summer a Virginius ] 

Was consul first in place ; 
The second was stout Aulus, 

Of the Posthumian race. ; 

The Herald of the Latines SSi 

From Gabii came in state : 
The Herald of the Latines | 

Passed through Rome's Eastern Gate : 
The Herald of the Latines \ 

Did in our Forum stand ; 9a; 

And there he did his office,*^ ] 

A sceptre in his hand. ; 

VI j 

" Hear, Senators and people 

Of the good town of Rome, j 

The Thirty Cities charge you 95; 

To bring the Tarquins home ; 
And if ye still be stubborn ] 

To work the Tarquins wrong, i 

The Thirty Cities warn you, 

Look that your, walls be strong.'' lOOj 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 69 

VII 

Then spake the Consul Aulus, 

He spake a bitter jest : I 

'^ Once the jays sent a message ^ 

Unto the eagle's nest : — 
Now yield thou up thine eyrie 105 

Unto the carrion-kite, ! 

Or come forth valiantly, and face 

The jays in deadly fight. — 
Forth looked in wrath the eagle ; l 

And carrion-kite and jay, no 

Soon as they saw his beak and claw, ; 

Fled screaming far away/' i 

VIII I 

The Herald of the Latines i 

Hath hied him back in state : 1 

The Fathers of the City 115 ; 

Are met in high debate. | 

Then spake the elder Consul, j 

An ancient man and wise : : 
'^ Now hearken, Conscript Fathers, 

To that which I advise. 120 



70 SELECTED POEMS 

In seasons of great peril 

^Tis good that one bear sway ; \ 

Then choose we a Dictator, i 

Whom all men shall obey. ' 

Camerium knows how deeply 125] 

The sword of Aulus bites, 

And all our city calls him i 

The man of seventy fights. 
Then let him be Dictator 

For six months and no more, 130- 

And have a Master of the Knights, \ 

And axes twenty-four.^^ i 

IX 

So Aulus was Dictator, \ 

The man of seventy fights ; ^ 

He made ^butius Elva 135] 

His Master of the Knights. '\ 
On the third morn thereafter, 

At dawning of the day, \ 

Did Aulus and ^butius ^ 

Set forth with their array. 140 i 

Sempronius Atratinus • 

Was left in charge at home, ] 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 71 

With boys, and with gray-headed men, 

To keep the walls of Rome. 
Hard by the Lake Regillus 145 

Our camp was pitched at night : 
Eastward a mile the Latines lay, 

Under the Porcian height. 
Far over hill and valley 

Their mighty host was spread ; 150 

And with their thousand .watch-fires- 

The midnight sky was red. 

X 

Up rose the golden morning 

Over the Porcian height, 
The proud Ides of Quintilis 155 

Marked evermore with white. 
Not without secret trouble 

Our bravest saw the foes ; 
For girt by threescore thousand spears 

The thirty standards rose. . 160 

From every warlike city 

That boasts the Latian name, 
Foredoomed to dogs and vultures, 

That gallant army came ; 



72 SELECTED POEMS 

From Setia^s purple vineyards, 

From Norba's ancient wall, 
From the white streets of Tusculum, 

The proudest town of all ; 
From where the Witches Fortress 

Overhangs the dark-blue seas ; 
From the still glassy lake that sleeps 

Beneath Aricia's trees — 
Those trees in whose dim shadow 

The ghastly priest ° doth reign, 
The priest who slew the slayer, 

And shall himself be slain ; 
From the drear banks of Ufens, 

Where flights of marsh-fowl play, 
And buffaloes lie wallowing 

Through the hot summer's day ; 
From the gigantic watch-towers. 

No work of earthly men. 
Whence Cora's sentinels overlook 

The never-ending fen ; 
From the Laurentian jungle. 

The wild hog's reedy home ; 
From the green steeps whence Anio leaps 

In floods of snow-white foam. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 73 

XI 

Aricia, Cora, Norba, 

Velitrse, with the might 190 

Of Setia and of Tusculum, 

Were marshalled on the right : 
The leader was Mamihus, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
Upon his head a helmet 195 

Of red gold shone like flame ; 
. High on a gallant charger 

Of dark-gray hue he rode ; 
Over his gilded armor 

A vest of purple flowed, 200 

Woven in the land of sunrise 

By Syria's dark-browed daughters, 
And by the sails of Carthage brought 

Far o'er the southern waters. 

XII 

Lavinium and Laurentum 205 

Had on the left their post. 
With all the banners of the marsh 

And banners of the coast. 



74 SELECTED POEMS 

Their leader was false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame : 210 

With restless pace and haggard face 

To his last field he came. 
Men said he saw strange visions 

Which none beside might see, 
And that strange sounds were in his ears 215 

Which none might hear but he. 
A woman fair° and stately, 

But pale as are the dead. 
Oft through the watches of the night 

Sat spinning by his bed. 220 

And as she plied the distaff. 

In a sweet voice and low 
She sang of great old houses. 

And fights fought long ago. 
So spun she, and so sang she, 225 

Until the east was gray. 
Then pointed to her bleeding breast, 
/ And shrieked, and fled away. 

XIII 

But in the centre thickest 

Were ranged the shields of foes, 230 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 75 j 

And from the centre loudest \ 

The cry of battle rose. j 

There Tibur marched and Pedum ] 

Beneath proud Tarquin^s rule, \ 

And Ferentinum of the rock, 235 \ 

And Gabii of the pool. i 

There rode the Volscian succors : 1 

There, in a dark stern ring, j 

The Roman exiles gathered close 

Around the ancient king. 240 \ 

Though white as Mount Soracte, \ 

When winter nights are long, ^ 

His beard flowed down o'er mail and belt, 

His heart and hand were strong : 
Under his hoary eyebrows 245 

Still flashed forth quenchless rage : j 

And, if the lance shook in his gripe, 

'Twas more with hate than age. i 

Close at his side was Titus I 

On an Apulian steed, 250 ; 

Titus, the youngest Tarquin, j 

Too good for such a breed. i 



76 SELECTED POEMS 

XIV 

Now on each side the leaders 

Give signal for the charge ; 
And on each side the footmen 255 

Strode on with lance and targe ; 
And on each side the horsemen 

Struck their spurs deep in gore, 
And front to front the armies 

Met with a mighty roar : 260 

And under that great battle 

The earth with blood was red ; 
And, like the Pomptine fog at morn, 

The dust hung overhead ; 
And louder still and louder 265 

Eose from the darkened field 
The braying of the war-horns, 

The clang of sword and shield, 
The rush of squadrons sweeping 

Like whirl\\dnds o^er the plain, 270 

The shouting of the slayers. 

And screeching of the slain. 

XV 

False Sextus rode out foremost, 
His look was high and bold ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 77 i 

I 

\ 

His corslet was of bison's hide, 275 : 

Plated with steel and gold. . ] 

As glares the famished eagle | 

From the Digentian rock \ 

On a choice lamb that bounds alone \ 

Before Bandusia's flock, 28o 1 

Herminius glared on Sextus, j 

And came with eagle speed, i 

Herminius on black Auster, 

Brave champion on brave steed ; \ 

In his right hand the broadsword 285 | 

That kept the bridge so well, j 

And on his helm the crown he won 

When proud Fidense fell. ' 

Woe to the maid whose lover 

Shall cross his path to-day ! 290 : 

False Sextus saw, and trembled. 

And turned and fled away. 
As turns, as flies the woodman i 

In the Calabrian brake, 
When through the reeds gleams the round eye 

Of that fell speckled snake ; 296 ■ 

So turned, so fled, false Sextus, 

And hid him in the rear, , 



78 SELECTED POEMS i 

Behind the dark Lavinian ranks, 

Bristhng with crest and spear. 300 1 

XVI \ 

But far to north. JEbutius, \ 

The Master of the Knights, j 

Gave Tubero of Norba \ 

To feed the Porcian kites. ! 

Next under those red horse-hoofs 305 ; 

Flaccus of Setia lay ; 
Better had he been pruning 

Among his elms that day. ] 

Mamilius saw the slaughter, j 

And tossed his golden crest, 310- i 
And towards the Master of the Knights '^ j 

Through the thick battle pressed. 

iEbutius smote Mamilius ' 

So fiercely on the shield j 

That the great lord of Tusculum 315 < 

Well nigh rolled on the field. 
Mamilius smote ^butius, 

With a good aim and true, i 

Just where the neck and shoulder join, I 

And pierced him through and through ; 320 ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT HOME 79 

And brave ^Ebutius Elva 

Fell swooning to the ground : 
But a thick wall of bucklers 

Encompassed him around. 
His clients from the battle 325 

Bare him some little space, 
And filled a helm from the dark lake, 

And bathed his brow and face ; 
And when at last he opened 

His swimming eyes to light, 330 

Men say, the earliest word he spake 

Was, ^^ Friends, how goes the fight ? '^ 

XVII 

But meanwhile in the centre 

Great deeds of arms were wrought ; 
There Aulus the Dictator 335 

And there Valerius fought. 
Aulus with his good broadsword 

A bloody passage cleared 
To where, amidst the thickest foes. 

He saw the long white beard. 340 

Flat lighted that good broadsword 

Upon proud Tarquin^s head. 



80 SELECTED POEMS \ 

■J 

He dropped the lance : he dropped the reins : I 

He fell as fall the dead. \ 

Down Aulus springs to slay him, 345i 

With eyes like coals of fire ; 

But faster Titus hath sprung down, i 

And hath bestrode his sire. ' 
Latian captains, Roman knights, 

Fast down to earth they spring, 350 

And hand to hand they fight on foot | 

Around the ancient king. ; 

First Titus gave tall Caeso I 

A death-wound in the face : ^ 

Tall Caeso was the bravest man 355; 

Of the brave Fabian race : i 

Aulus slew Rex of Gabii, ; 

The priest of Juno's shrine ; j 

Valerius smote down Julius, \ 

Of Rome's great Julian line ; 360! 

Julius, who left his mansion \ 

High on the Velian hill, ' 
And through all turns of weal and woe 

Followed proud Tarquin still. ; 

Now right across proud Tarquin aesj 

A corpse was Julius laid ; \ 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 81 

And Titus groaned with rage and grief, 

And at Valerius made. 
Valerius struck at Titus, 

And lopped off half his crest ; 370 

But Titus stabbed Valerius 

A span deep in the breast. 
Like a mast snapped by the tempest, 

Valerius reeled and fell. 
Ah ! woe is me for the good house 375 

That loves the people well ! 
Then shouted loud the Latines ; 

And with one rush they bore 
The struggling Romans backward 

Three lances' length and more : 380 

And up they took proud Tarquin, 

And laid him on a shield, 
And four strong yeomen bare him, 

Still senseless, from the field. 

XVIII 

But fiercer grew the fighting 385 

Around Valerius dead ; 
For Titus dragged him by the foot, 

And Aulus by the head. 



82 SELECTED POEMS \ 

\ 
i 

'^ On, Latines, on ! ^^ quoth Titus, \ 

'^ See how the rebels fly ! '' 390 

'^ Romans, stand firm ! ^^ quoth Aulus, '! 

^^ And win this fight, or die ! i 

They must not give Valerius i 

To raven and to kite ; ! 

For aye Valerius loathed the wrong, 395i 

And aye upheld the right ; 
And for your wives and babies 

In the front rank he fell. 

Now play the men for the good house : 

That loves the people well ! '^ 400 1 

XIX j 

Then tenfold round the body \ 

The roar of battle rose, \ 

Like the roar of a burning forest, \ 

When a strong north wind blows. i 

Now backward, and now forward, 405 ; 

Rocked furiously the fray. 

Till none could see Valerius, ] 

And none wist where he lay. 

For shivered arms and ensigns : 

Were heaped there in a mound, 410 ■ 

i 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 83 ] 

And corpses stiff, and dying men ] 

That writhed and gnawed the ground ; 1 

And wounded horses kicking, 

And snorting purple foam : : 

Right well did such a couch befit 415 \ 

A Consular of Rome. 1 

XX • ] 

But north looked the Dictator ; i 

North looked he long and hard ; i 

And spake to Caius Cossus, \ 

The Captain of his Guard ; 420 ] 

^^ Caius, of all the Romans j 

Thou hast the keenest sight ; ] 

Say, what through yonder storm of dust \ 

Comes from the Latian right ? '^ ^ 

XXI i 

,i 

Then answered Caius Cossus, 425 ; 

^^ I see an evil sight; \ 
^ The banner of proud Tusculum 

Comes from the Latian right ; 

I see the plumed horsemen ; I 

And far before the rest 430 i 



84 SELECTED POEMS 

I see the dark-gray charger, 

I see the purple vest ; 
I see the golden helmet 

That shines far off like flame ; 
So ever rides Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name.'' 

XXII 

" Now hearken, Caius Cossus : 

Spring on thy horse's back ; 
Ride as the wolves of Apennine 

Were all upon thy track ; 
Haste to our southward battle : 

And never draw thy rein 
Until thou find Herminius, 

And bid him come amain." 

XXIII 

So Aulus spake, and turned him 
Again to that fierce strife ; 

And Caius Cossus mounted, 
And rode for death and life. 

Loud clanged beneath his horse-hoofs 
The helmets of the dead, 



LA YS OF ANCIENT HOME 85 

And many a curdling pool of blood 

Splashed him from heel to head. 
So came he far to southward, 

Where fought the Roman host, 
Against the banners of the marsh 455 

And banners of the coast. 
Like corn before the sickle 

The stout Lavinians fell, 
Beneath the edge of the true sword 

That kept the bridge so well. 460 

XXIV 

'^ Herminius ! Aulus greets thee ; 

He bids thee come with speed, 
To help our central battle. 

For sore is there our need ; 
There was the youngest Tarquin, 465 

And there the Crest of Flame, 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 
Valerius hath fallen fighting 

In front of our array : 470 

And Aulus of the seventy fields 

Alone upholds the day.'' 



86 SELECTED POEMS \ 

\ 

XXV ' ■] 

^ Herminius beat his bosom . | 

But never a word he spake. ; 
He clasped his hand on Auster's mane: 475i 

He gave the reins a shake. j 

Away, away, went Auster, \ 

Like an arrow from the bow : ' 
Black Auster was the fleetest steed 

From Aufidus to Po. 48o' 

XXVI 

Right glad were all the Romans \ 

Who, in that hour of dread, j 

Against great odds bare up the war \ 

Around Valerius dead, 

When from the south the cheering 485 ; 

Rose with a mighty swell; j 

'^ Herminius comes, Herminius, | 

Who kept the bridge so well ! '' \ 

XXVII \ 

Mamilius spied Herminius, 

And dashed across the way. 49oJ 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 87 

'^ Herminius ! I have sought thee 

Through many a bloody day. 
One of us two, Herminius, 

Shall never more go home. 
I will lay on for Tusculum 496 

And lay thou on for Rome ! " 

XXVIII 

All round them paused the battle 

While met in mortal fray, 
The Roman and the Tusculan, 

The horses black and gray. 500 

Herminius smote Mamilius 

Through breast-plate and through breast ; 
And fast flowed out the purple blood 

Over the purple vest. 
Mamilius smote Herminius 505 

Through head-piece and through head, 
And side by side those chiefs of pride 

Together fell down dead. 
Down fell they dead together 

In a great lake of gore ; 5io 

And still stood all who saw them fall 

While men might count a score. 



88 SELECTED POEMS 



XXIX 



Fast, fast, with heels wild spurning, 

The dark-gray charger fled : 
He burst through ranks of fighting men, 5i5i 

He sprang o'er heaps of dead. ' 

His bridle far out-streaming, \ 

His flanks all blood and foam, ; 

He sought the southern mountains, j 

The mountains of his home. 520 i 

The pass was steep and rugged, \ 

The wolves they howled and whined ; \ 

But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass, i 

And he left the wolves behind. 
Through many a startled hamlet 525^ 

Thundered his flying feet ; 
He rushed through the gate of Tusculum, 

He rushed up the long white street. 
He rushed by tower and temple, ! 

And paused not from his race 530 

Till he stood before his master's door j 

In the stately market-place. \ 

And straightway round him gathered ^ 

A pale and trembling crowd, : 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 89 

And when they knew him, cries of rage 535 

Brake forth, and wailing loud : 
And women rent their tresses 

For their great prince's fall ; 
And old men girt on their old swords, 

And went to man the wall. 540 

XXX 

But, like a graven image. 

Black Auster kept his place, 
And ever wistfully he looked 

Into his master's face. 
The raven-mane that daily, 545 

With pats and fond caresses. 
The young Herminia washed and combed, 

And twined in even tresses, 
And decked with colored ribands 

From her own gay attire, 550 

Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse 

In carnage and in mire. 
Forth with a shout sprang Titus, 

And seized black Auster's rein. 
Then Aulus sware a fearful oath, 555 

And ran at him amain. 



90 SELECTED POEMS 

'' The furies of thy brother 

With me and mine abide, 
If one of your accursed house 

Upon black Auster ride ! '' 560 j 

As on an Alpine watch-tower | 

From heaven comes down the flame, j 

Full on the neck of Titus . \ 

The blade of Aulus came : ' 

And out the red blood spouted, 565 , 

In a wide arch and tall, * 
As spouts a fountain in the court 

Of some rich Capuan's hall. 

The knees of all the Latines ; 

Were loosened with dismay, 5701 

When dead, on dead Herminius, ' 

The bravest Tarquin lay. \ 

XXXI i 

And Aulus the Dictator ; 

Stroked Auster's raven mane, ; 

With heed he looked unto the girths, 575! 

With heed unto the rein. I 

'^ Now bear me well, black Auster, \ 

Into yon thick array : i 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 91 \ 

\ 

And thou and I will have revenge \ 

For thy good lord this day.'' 580 

XXXII 

So spake he ; and was buckling ] 

Tighter black Auster's band, ; 

When he was aware of a princely pair i 

That rode at his right hand. i 

So like they were, no mortal 585 

Might one from other know : j 

White as snow their armor was ; \ 

Their steeds were white as snow. 1 
Never on earthly anvil 

Did such rare armor gleam ; 690 

And never did such gallant steeds . 

Drink of an earthly stream. ^ 



XXXIII 

And all who saw them trembled, 

And pale grew every cheek ; 
And Aulus the Dictator 695 

Scarce gathered voice to speak. 
'' Say by what name men call you ? 

What city is your home ? 



92 SELECTED POEMS 

And wherefore ride ye in such guise 
Before the ranks of Rome ? ^' 

♦ 

XXXIV 

'^ By many names men call us ; 

In many lands we dwell : 
Well Samothracia knows us ; 

Cyrene knows us well. 
Our house in gay Tarentum 

Is hung each morn with flowers : 
High o'er the masts of Syracuse 

Our marble portal towers ; 
But by the proud Eurotas 

Is our dear native home ; 
And for the right we come to fight 

Before the ranks of Rome/' 

XXXV 

So answered those strange horsemen, 
And each couched low his spear ; 

And forthwith all the ranks of Rome 
Were bold, and of good cheer : 

And on the thirty armies 
Came wonder and affright, 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 93 

And Ardea wavered on the left, 

And Cora on the right. 620 

'^ Rome to the charge ! '^ cried Aulus; 

'^The foe begins to yield ! 
Charge for the hearth of Vesta !° 

Charge for the Golden Shield ! 
Let no man stop to plunder, 625 

But slay, and slay, and slay ; 
The gods who live forever 

Are on our side to-day/' 

XXXVI 

Then the fierce trumpet-flourish 

From earth to heaven arose ; 630 

The kites know well the long stern swell 

That bids the Romans close. . 
Then the good sword of Aulus 

Was lifted up to slay ; 
Then, like a crag down Apennine, 635 

Rushed Auster through the fray. 
But under those strange horsemen 

Still thicker lay the slain ; 
And after those strange horses 

Black Auster toiled in vain. 640 



94 SELECTED POEMS 

Behind them Rome's long battle 

Came rolling on the foe, 
Ensigns dancing wild above, 

Blades all in line below. 
So comes the Po in flood-time 645 

Upon the Celtic plain : 
So comes the squall, blacker than night, 

Upon the Adrian main. 
Now by our sire Quirinus, 

It was a goodly sight 650 

To see the thirty standards 

Swept down the tide of flight. 
So flies the spray of Adria 

When the black squall doth blow, 
So corn-sheaves in the flood-time 655 

Spin down the whirling Po. 
False Sextus to the mountains 

Turned first his horse's head ; 
And fast fled Ferentinum, 

And fast Lanuvium fled. 660 

The horsemen of Nomentum 

Spurred hard out of the fray ; 
The footmen of Velitrse 

Threw shield and spear away. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROMS 96 

And underfoot was trampled, 665 

Amidst the mad and gore, 
The banner of proud Tusculum, 

That never stooped before : 
And down went Flavius Faustus, 

Who led his stately ranks 670 

From where the apple blossoms wave 

On iVnio^s echoing banks, 
And Tullus of Arpinum, 

Chief of the Volscian aids. 
And Metius with the long fair curls, 675 

The love of Anxur's maids. 
And the white head of Vulso, 

The great Arician seer. 
And Nepos of Laurentum, 

The hunter of the deer ; 680 

And in the back false Sextus 

Felt the good Roman steel. 
And wriggling in the dust he died. 

Like a worm beneath the wheel : 
And fliers and pursuers 685 

Were mingled in a mass ; 
And far away the battle 

Went roaring through the pass. 



96 SELECTED POEMS 

XXXVII 

Sempronius Atratinus 

Sat in the Eastern Gate, 
Beside him were three Fathers, 

Each in his chair of state ; 
Fabius, whose nine stout grandsons 

That day were in the field. 
And Manhus, eldest of the Twelve 

Who keep the Golden Shield ; 
And Sergius, the High Pontiff, 

For wisdom far renowned ; 
In all Etruria's colleges 

Was no such Pontiff found. 
And all around the portal, 

And high above the wall. 
Stood a great throng of people, 

But sad and silent all ; 
Young lads, and stooping elders 

That might not bear the mail. 
Matrons with lips that quivered. 

And maids with faces pale. 
Since the first gleam of daylight, 

Sempronius had not ceased 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 97 

To listen for the rushing 

Of horse-hoofs from the east. 
The mist of eve was rising, 

The sun was hastening down, 
When he was aware of a princely pair 715 

Fast pricking towards the town. 
So like they were, man never 

Saw twins so like before ; 
Red with gore their armor was, 

Their steeds were red with gore. 720 

XXXVIII 

'^ Hail to the great Asylum ! 

Hail to the hill-tops seven ! 
Hail to the fire that burns for aye. 

And the shield that fell from heaven ! 
This day, by Lake Regillus, 725 

Under the Porcian height. 
All in the lands of Tusculum 

Was fought a glorious fight. 
To-morrow your Dictator 

Shall bring in triumph home 730 

The spoils of thirty cities 

To deck the shrines of Rome ! '' 

H 



98 SELECTED POEMS 

XXXIX 

Then burst from that great concourse 

A shout that shook the towers, 
And some ran north, and some ran south, 735 

Crying, ^^ The day is ours ! '' 
But on rode these strange horsemen, 

With slow and lordly pace ; 
And none who saw their bearing 

Durst ask their name or race. 740 

On rode they to the Forum, 

While laurel-boughs and flowers, 
From house-tops and from windows, 

Fell on their crests in showers. 
When they drew nigh to Vesta, 745 

They vaulted down amain, 
And washed their horses in the well 

That springs by Vestals fane. 
And straight again they mounted. 

And rode to Vesta's door ; 750 

Then, like a blast, away they passed, 

And no man saw them more. 

XL 

And all the people trembled. 
And pale grew every cheek ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 99 

And Sergius the High Pontiff 755 

Alone found voice to speak : 
^' The gods who hve for ever 

Have fought for Rome to-day ! 
These be the Great Twin Brethren 

To whom the Dorians pray. 760 

Back comes the Chief in triumph, 

Who, in the hour of fight. 
Hath seen the Great Twin Brethren 

In harness on his right. 
Safe comes the ship to haven, 765 

Through billows and through gales. 
If once the Great Twin Brethren 

Sit shining on the sails. 
Wherefore they washed their horses 

In Vesta's holy well, 770 

Wherefore they rode to Vesta's door, 

I know, but may not tell. 
Here, hard by Vesta's Temple, 

Build we a stately dome 
Unto the Great Twin Brethren 775 

Who fought so well for Rome. 
And when the months returning 

Bring back this day of fight. 



100 SELECTED POEMS 

The proud Ides of Quintilis, 

Marked evermore with white, 780 

Unto the Great Twin Brethren 

Let all the people throng, 
With chaplets and with offerings, 

With music and with song ; 
And let the doors and windows 785 

Be hung with garlands all. 
And let the Knights be summoned 

To Mars without the wall : 
Thence let them ride in purple 

With joyous trumpet-sound, 790 

Each mounted on his war-horse. 

And each with olive crowned ; 
And pass in solemn order 

Before the sacred dome, 
Where dwell the Great Twin Brethren 795 

Who fought so well for Rome ! '' 



VIRGINIA 

FRAGMENTS OF A LAY SUNG IN THE FORUM ON THE DAY 
WHEREON LUCIUS SEXTIUS SEXTINUS LATERANUS AND 
CAIUS LICINIUS CALVUS STOLO WERE ELECTED TRIBUNES 
OF THE COMMONS THE FIFTH TIME, IN THE YEAR OF THE 
CITY CCCLXXXII 

Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and 

true, 
Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by 

you. 
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with 

care, 
A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome 

yet may bear. 
This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine, 5 
Of maids° with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine. 
Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun. 
In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done. 
Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day. 
Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten° 

bare sway. lo 

101 



102 SELECTED POEMS 

Of all the wicked Ten still the names are held accursed, 

And of all the wicked Ten Appius Claudius was the worst. 

He stalked along the Forum like King Tarquin in his 
pride : 

Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side ; 

The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed as- 
kance with fear 15 

His lowering brow, his curling mouth which always 
seemed to sneer : 

That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the 
kindred still ; 

For never was there Claudius yet but wished the Com- 
mons ill ; 

Nor lacks he fit attendance ; for, close behind his heels. 

With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client' 
Marcus steals, 20 

His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what 
it may. 

And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his lord 
may say. 

Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying 
Greeks : 

Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave Licinius 
speaks. 



o 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 103 

Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd ; 
Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud ; 
Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike 

ye see ; 27 

And wheresoe'er such lord is found, such client still 

will be. 
Just then, as through one cloudless chink in a black 

stormy sky 
Shines out the dewy morning-star, a fair young girl 

came by. • 30 

With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel 

on her arm, 
Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed 

of shame or harm ; 
And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran, 
With bright, frank brow that had not learned to blush 

at gaze of man ; 
And up the Sacred Street^ she turned, and, as she 

danced along, 35 

She warbled gajdy to herself lines of the good old song. 
How for a sport the princes came spurring from the 

camp, 
And found Lucrece, combing the fleece, under the 

midnight lamp. 



104 SELECTED POEMS 

The maiden sang as sings the lark, when up he darts 

his flight, 
From his nest in the green April corn, to meet the 

morning light ; 40 

And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw 

her sweet young face. 
And loved her with the accursed love of his accursed 

race, 
And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street, 
His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing 

feet. 

Over the Alban mountains the light of morning 

broke ; 45 

From all the roofs of the Seven Hills° curled the thin 

wreaths of smoke : 
The citj^'-gates were opened ; the Forum all alive. 
With buyers and with sellers, was humming like a hive : 
Blithely on brass and timber the craftsman^s stroke 

was ringing, 
And blithely o'er her panniers the market girl was 

singing, 50 

And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her 

home; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 105 

Ah ! woe for young Virginia, the sweetest maid in 

Rome ! 
With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel 

on her arm. 
Forth she went bounding to the school, nor dreamed 

of shame or harm. 
She crossed the Forum shining with stalls in alleys gay 55 
And just had reached the very spot whereon I stand 

this day. 
When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when 

erewhile 
He crouched behind his patron's heels with the true 

client smile : 
He came with lowering forehead, swollen features 

and clenched fist, 
And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by 

the wrist. 60 

Hard strove the frightened maiden, and screamed with 

look aghast ; 
And at her scream from right and left the folk came 

running fast. 
The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs. 
And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic 

wares, 



106 SELECTED POEMS 

And the strong smith Mursena, grasping a half-forged 

brand, . 65 

And Volero the flesher, his cleaver in his hand. 
All came in wrath and wonder ; for all knew that fair 

child, 
And, as she passed them twice a day, all kissed their 

hands and smiled ; 
And the strong smith Mursena gave Marcus such a blow, 
The Caitiff reeled three paces back, and let the maiden 

go. 70 

Yet glared he fiercely round him, and growled in harsh, 

fell tone, 
'^ She^s mine, and I will have her : I seek but for mine 

own : 
She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and 

sold. 
The year of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours 

old. 
'Twas in the sad September, the month of wail and 

fright, 75 

Two augurs were borne forth that morn ; the Consul died 

ere night. 
I wait on Appius Claudius, I waited on his sire : 
Let him who works the client wrong beware the patron's 

ire ! '' 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 107 

So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence 

came 
On all the people at the sound of the great Claudian 

name. 80 

For then there was no Tribune to speak the word of 

might, 
Which makes the rich man tremble, and guards the poor 

man^s right. 
There was no brave Licinius, no honest Sextius then ; 
But all the. city, in great fear, obeyed the wicked Ten. 
Yet ere the varlet Marcus again might seize the maid, 85 
Who clung tight to Muraena's skirt, and sobbed and 

shrieked for aid, 
Forth through the throng of gazers the young Icilius 

pressed. 
And stamped his foot, and rent his gown, and smote upon 

his breast. 
And sprang upon that column, by many a minstrel 

sung, 
Whereon three mouldering helmets, three rusting swords 

are hung, 90 

And beckoned to the people, and in bold voice and clear 
Poured thick and fast the burning words which tyrants 

quake to hear. 



108 SELECTED POEMS 

^' Now, by your children's cradles, now by your fath- 
ers' graves, 
Be men to-day, Quirites, or be for ever slaves ! 
For this did Servius give us laws ? For this did Lucrece 

bleed ? 95 

For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's 

evil seed ? 
For this did those false sons make red the axes of their 

sire? 
For this did Scaevola's° right hand hiss in the Tuscan 

fire? 
Shall the vile fox-earth awe the race that stormed the 

lion's den ? 
Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the 

wicked Ten ? lOO 

Oh, for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's 

will! 
Oh, for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred 

Hill! 
In those brave days our fathers stood firmly side by side ; 
They faced the Marcian fury ; they tamed the Fabian 

pride : 
They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from 

Rome ; 105 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 109 

They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces 

home. 
But what their care bequeathed us our madness flung 

away : 
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a 

day. 
Exult, ye proud Patricians ! The hard-fought fight is 

o^er. 
We strove for honors — 'twas in vain ; for freedom — 

'tis no more. no 

No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; 
No tribune breathes the word of might that guards the 

weak from wrong. 
Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath 

your will. 
Riches, and lands, and power, and state — ye have them 

— keep them still. 
Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown, 115 
The axes, and the curule chair, the car, and laurel 

crown : 
Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is 

done, 
Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords 

have won. 



110 SELECTED POEMS 

Still, like a spreading ulcer, which leech-craft may not 
cure, 119 

Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor. 

Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore ; 

Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore ; 

No fire when Tiber freezes ; no air in dog-star heat ; 

And store of rods for free-born backs, and holes for free- 
born feet. 

Heap heavier still the fetters ; bar closer still the grate ; 

Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate. 126 

But, by the Shades beneath us, and by the gods above, 

Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love ! 

Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs 

From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban 
kings ? 130 

Ladies, who deign not on our paths to set their tender 
feet. 

Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the 
wondering street. 

Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles be- 
hold. 

And breathe of Capuan odors, and shine with Spanish 
gold ? 

Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to life — 135 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 111 

The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of 

wife, 
The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul 

endures, 
The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as 

yours. 
Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast 

with pride ; 
Still let the bridegroom's arms infold an unpolluted 

bride. 140 

Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame, 
That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's 

blood to flame, 
Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, 
And learn by proof, in some wild hour, how much the 

wretched dare." 

Straightway Virginius led the maid a httle space 

aside, 145 

To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn 

and hide, 
Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood, 
Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of 
blood. 



112 SELECTED POEMS 

Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down ; 
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. 
And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began 

to swell, 151 

And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, '^ Farewell, 

sweet child ! Farewell ! 
Oh ! how I loved my darling ! Though stern I some- 
times be. 
To thee, thou know^st, I was not so. Who could be so 

to thee ? 
And how my darling loved me ! How glad she was to 

hear 155 

My footstep on the threshold when I came back last 

year ! 
And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown, 
And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me 

forth my gown ! 
Now, all those things are over — yes, all thy pretty ways. 
Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old 

lays ; I60 

And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I 

return. 
Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn. 
The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls, 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 113 

The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble 

halls, 
Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal 

gloom, 165 

And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. 
The time is come. See how he points his eager hand 

this way ! 
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon 

the prey ! 
With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, be- 
trayed, bereft. 
Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left. 170 
He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can 

save 
Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of 

the slave ; 
Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and 

blow — 
Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt 

never know. 
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me 

one more kiss ; 175 

And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but 

this.'' 



114 SELECTED POEMS 

With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the 

side, 
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob 

she died. 

Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; 
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of 

death ; 180 

And in another moment brake forth from one and all 
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o^er the wall. 
Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain ; 
Some ran to call a leech ; and some ran to lift the slain ; 
Some felf her lips and little wrist, if life might there be 

found ; 185 

And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to 

stanch the wound. 
In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched; for never 

truer blow 
That good right arm had dealt in fight against a Volscian 

foe. 

When Appius Claudius saw that deed, he shuddered 
and sank down. 
And hid his face some little space with the corner of his 
gown, 190 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 115 

Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tot- 
tered nigh, 
And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife 

on high. 
^' Oh ! dwellers- in the nether gloom, avengers of the 

slain. 
By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us 

twain; 
And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and 

mine, 195 

Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line ! '^ 
So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his 

way; 
But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body 

lay, 
And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then, with 

steadfast feet 
Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred 

Street. 200 

Then up sprang Appius Claudius : ^' Stop him ; alive 
or dead ! 
Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings 
his head.'' 



116 SELECTED POEMS 

He looked upon his clients; but none would work his 

will. 
He looked upon his lictors; but they trembled, and 

stood still. 
And as Virginius through the press his way in silence 

cleft, 205 

Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. 
And he hath passed in safety unto his woeful home, 
And there ta^en horse to tell the camp what deeds are 

done in Rome. 

By this the flood of people was swollen from every side. 
And streets and porches round were filled with that 

overflowing tide ; 210 

And close around the body gathered a little train 
Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain. 
They brought a bier, and hung it with many a cypress 

crown, 
And gently they uplifted her, and gently laid her 

down. 
The face of Appius Claudius wore the Claudian scowl 

and sneer, 215 

And in the Claudian note he cried, '^ What doth this 

rabble here ? 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 117 

Have they no crafts to mind at home, that hitherward 

they stray ? 
Ho ! Hctors, clear the market-place, and fetch the corpse 

away ! '^ 
The voice of grief and fury till then had not been loud ; 
But a deep, sullen murmur wandered among the 

crowd 220 

Like the moaning noise that goes before the whirlwind 

on the deep, 
Or the growl of a fierce watch-dog but half-aroused from 

sleep. 
But when the lictors at that word, tall yeomen all and 

strong 
Each with his axe and sheaf of twigs, went down into 

the throng. 
Those old men say, who saw that day of sorrow and of 

sin, 225 

That in the Roman Forum was never such a din. 
The wailing, hooting, cursing, the howls of grief and 

hate. 
Were heard beyond the Pincian Hill, beyond the Latin 

Gate. 
But close around the body, where stood the little train 
Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain, 



118 SELECTED POEMS 

No cries were there, but teeth set fast, low whispers and 

black frowns, 231 

And breaking up of benches, and girding up of gowns. 
'Twas well the lictors might not pierce to where the 

maiden lay. 
Else surely had they been all twelve torn limb from limb 

that day. 
Right glad they were to struggle back, blood streaming 

from their heads, 235 

With axes all in splinters, and raiment all in shreds. 
Then Appius Claudius gnawed his lip, and the blood left 

his cheek, 
And thrice he beckoned with his hand, and thrice he 

strove to speak ; 
And thrice the tossing Forum set up a frightful yell : 
^' See, see, thou dog ! what thou hast done ; and hide thy 

shame in hell ! 240 

Thou that wouldst make our maidens slaves must first 

make slaves of men. 
Tribunes ! Hurrah for Tribunes ! Down with the 

wicked Ten ! '' 
And straightway, thick as hailstones, came whizzing 

through the air. 
Pebbles, and bricks, and potsherds, all round the curule 

chair : 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 119 

And upon Appius Claudius great fear and trembling 

came, 245 

For never was a Claudius yet brave against aught but 

shame. 
Though the great houses love us not, we own, to do them 

right, 
That the great houses, all save one, have borne them well 

in fight. 
Still Caius of Corioli,° his triumphs and his wrongs. 
His vengeance and his mercy, live in o^yr camp-fire 

songs. 250 

Beneath the yoke of Furius oft have Gaul and Tuscan 

bowed ; 
And Rome may bear the pride of him of whom herself is 

proud. 
But evermore a Claudius shrinks from a stricken field. 
And changes color like a maid at sight of sword and 

shield. 
The Claudian triumphs all were won within the city 

towers ; 255 

The Claudian yoke was never pressed on any necks but 

ours. 
A Cossus, like a wild-cat, springs ever at the face ; 
A Fabius rushed like a boar against the shouting chase ; 



122 SELECTED POEMS 

His face and neck were all one cake of filth and clotted 

gore. 
As Appius Claudius was that day, so may his grandson 

be ! 285 

God send Rome one such other sight, and send me there 

to see ! 



THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS 

A LAY SUNG AT THE BANQUET IN THE CAPITOL, ON THE DAY 
WHEREON MANIUS CURIUS DENTATUS, A SECOND TIME 
CONSUL, TRIUMPHED OVER KING PYRRHUS AND THE 
TARENTINES, IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLXXIX 



Now slain is King Amulius, 

Of the great Sylvian line, 
Who reigned in Alba Longa, 

On the throne of Aventine. 
Slain is the Pontiff Gamers, 5 

Who spake the words of doom : 
'' The children to the Tiber, 

The mother to the tomb/' 

II 

In Alba's lake no fisher 

His net to-day is flinging : lo 

On the dark rind of Albans oaks 

To-day no axe is ringing ; 
123 



124 SELECTED POEMS 

The yoke hangs o'er the manger, 

The scythe hes in the hay : 
Through all the Alban villages 15 

No work is done to-day. 

Ill 
And every Alban burgher 

Hath donned his whitest gown ; 
And every head in Alba 

Weareth a poplar crown ; 20 

And every Alban door-post 

With boughs and flowers is gay ; 
For to-day the dead are living, 

The lost are found to-day. 

IV 

They were doomed by a bloody king, 25 

They were doomed by a lying priest, 
They were cast on the raging flood. 

They were tracked by the raging beast ; 
Raging beast and raging flood. 

Alike have spared the prey : 30 

And to-day the dead are living, 

The lost are found to-day. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT HOME 126 



The troubled river knew them, 

And smoothed his yellow foam, 
And gently rocked the cradle 35 

That bore the fate of Rome. 
The ravening she-wolf knew them, 

And licked them o^er and o'er. 
And gave them of her own fierce milk. 

Rich with raw flesh and gore. ^ 40 

Twenty winters, twenty springs. 

Since then have rolled away ; 
And to-day the dead are living : 

The lost are found to-day. 

VI 

Blithe it was to see the twins, 45 

Right goodly youths and tall, 
Marching from Alba Longa 

To their old grandsire's hall. 
Along their path fresh garlands 

Are hung from tree to tree : 50 

Before them stride the pipers, 

Piping a note of glee. 



126 SELECTED POEMS 



VII 



On the right goes Romulus 

With arms to the elbows red, 
And in his hand a broadsword, 55 

And on the blade a head — 
A head in an iron helmet, 

With horse-hair hanging down, 
A shaggy head, a swarthy head. 

Fixed in a ghastly frown — 60 

The head of King Amulius 

Of the great Sylvian line. 
Who reigned in Alba Longa, 

On the throne of Aventine. 

VIII 

. On the left side goes Remus, 65 

With wrists and fingers red. 
And in his hand a boar-spear, 

And on the point a head — 
A wrinkled head and aged. 

With silver beard and hair, 70 

And holy fillets round it. 

Such as the pontiffs wear — 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 127 

The head of ancient Gamers, 

Who spake the words of doom : 
'' The children to the Tiber, 75 

The mother to the tomb/' 

IX 

Two and two behind the twins ^ 

Their trusty comrades go, 
Four-and-forty vaHant men. 

With club, and axe, and bow. 80 

On each side every hamlet 

Pours forth its joyous crowd, 
Shouting lads and baying dogs. 

And children laughing loud, 
And old men weeping fondly 85 

As Rhea's boys go by. 
And maids who shriek to see the heads, 

Yet, shrieking, press more nigh. 



So they marched along the lake ; 

They marched by fold and stall, 90 

By corn-field and by vineyard, 

Unto the old man's hall. 



128 SELECTED POEMS 

XI 

In the hall-gate sat Capys,° 

Capys, the sightless seer ; 
From head to foot he trembled 95 

As Romulus drew near. 
And up stood stiff his thin white hair, 

And his bhnd eyes flashed fire : 
^^ Hail ! foster child of the wondrous nurse ! 

Hail ! son of the wondrous sire ! lOO 

XII 

" But thou — what dost thou here 

In the old man^s peaceful hall ? 
What doth the eagle in the coop, 

The bison in the stall ? 
Our corn fills many a garner ; 105 

Our vines clasp many a tree ; 
Our flocks are white on many a hill ; 

But these are not for thee. 

XIII 

" For thee no treasure ripens 

In the Tartessian mine ; no 

For thee no ship brings precious bales 

Across the Libyan brine ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 129 

Thou shalt not drink from amber ; 

Thou shalt not rest on down ; 
Arabia shall not steep thy locks, 115 

Nor Sidon tinge thy gown. 

XIV 

" Leave gold and myrrh and jewels, 

Rich table and soft bed, 
To them who of man's seed are born, 

Whom woman's milk has fed. 120 

Thou wast not made for lucre. 

For pleasure nor for rest ; 
Thou that art sprung from the War-god's loins 

And hast tugged at the she-wolf's breast. 

XV 

*' From sunrise unto sunset 125 

All earth shall hear thy fame : 
A glorious city thou shalt build. 

And name it by thy name : 
And there, unquenched through ages. 

Like Vesta's sacred fire, 130 

Shall live the spirit of thy nurse. 

The spirit of thy sire. 



130 • SELECTED POEMS 

XVI 

" The ox toils through the furrow, 

Obedient to the goad ; 
The patient ass, up flinty paths, 135 

Plods with his weary load ; 
With whine and bound the spaniel 

His master^s whistle hears ; 
And the sheep yields her patiently 

To the loud clashing shears. 140 

XVII 

" But thy nurse will hear no master ; 

Thy nurse will bear no load ; 
And woe to them that shear her, 

And woe to them that goad ! 
When all the pack, loud baying, 145 

Her bloody lair surrounds. 
She dies in silence, biting hard. 

Amidst the dying hounds. 

XVIII 

" Pomona loves the orchard ; 

And Liber° loves the vine ; 150 

And Pales loves the straw-built shed 

Warm with the breath of kine ; 



LAYS OF ANCIEITT ROME 131 

And Venus loves the whispers 

Of phghted youth and maid, 
In ApriFs ivory moonUght 155 

Beneath the chestnut shade. 

t 

XIX 

" But thy father loves the clashing 

Of broadsword and of shield : 
He loves to drink the stream that reeks 

From the fresh battle-field : 160 

He smiles a smile more dreadful 

Than his own dreadful frown, 
When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke 

Go up from the conquered town. 

XX 

" And such as is the War-god, 165 

The author of thy line 
And such as she who suckled thee, 

Even such be thou and thine. 
Leave to the soft Campanian 

His baths and his perfumes ; 170 

Leave to the sordid race of Tyre 

Their dyeing-vats and looms ; 



132 SELECTED POEMS 

Leave to the sons of Carthage 

The rudder and the oar ; 
Leave to the Greek his marble Nymphs 175 

And scrolls of wordy lore. 

XXI 

'' Thine, Roman, is the pilum^ : 

Roman, the sword is thine, 
The even trench, the bristling mound, 

The legion's ordered line ; 180 

And thine the wheels of triumph, 

Which, with their laurelled train, 
Move slowly up the shouting streets 

To Jove's eternal fane. 

XXII 

'^ Beneath thy yoke the Volscian 185 

Shall vail his lofty brow : 
Soft Capua's curled revellers 

Before thy chairs shall bow : 
The Lucumoes of Arnus 

Shall quake thy rods to see ; 190 

And the proud Samnite's heart of steel 

Shall yield to only thee 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 133 

XXIII 

'' The Gaul shall come against thee 
From the land of snow and night : 

Thou shalt give his fair-haired armies 195 

To the raven and the kite. ^ 

XXIV 

^^ The Greek shall come against thee, 

The conqueror of the East. 
Beside him stalks to battle 

The huge earth-shaking beast, 200 

The beast on whom the castle 

With all its guards doth stand, 
The beast who hath between his eyes 

The serpent for a hand. 
First march the bold Epirotes, 205 

Wedged close with shield and spear ; 
And the ranks of false Tarentum 

Are glittering in the rear. 

XXV 

" The ranks of false Tarentum 

Like hunted sheep shall fly : 210 

In vain the bold Epirotes° 

Shall round their standards die : 



134 SELECTED POEMS 

And Apennine's gray vultures 

Shall have a noble feast 
On the fat and the eyes 215 

Of the huge earth-shaking beast. 

XXVI 

^' Hurrah ! for the good weapons 

That keep the War-god's land. 
Hurrah ! for Rome's stout pilum 

In a stout Roman hand. 220 

Hurrah ! for Rome's short broadsword, 

That through the thick array 
Of levelled spears and serried shields 

Hews deep its gory way. 

XXVII 

" Hurrah ! for the great triumph 225 

That stretches many a mile. 
Hurrah ! for the wan captives 

That pass in endless file. 
Ho ! bold Epirotes, whither 

Hath the Red King'' ta'en flight ? 230 

Ho ! dogs of false Tarentum, 

Is not the gown washed white ? 



LAYS OF ANCIENT HOME 135 

XXVIII 

^^ Hurrah ! for the great triumph 

That stretches many a mile. 
Hurrah ! for the rich dye of Tyre, 235 

And the fine web of Nile, 
The helmets gay with plumage 

Torn from the pheasant ^s wings. 
The belts set thick with starry gems 

That shone on Indian kings, 240 

The urns of massy silver. 

The goblets rough with gold, 
The many-colored tablets bright 

With loves and wars of old, 
The stone that breathes and struggles, 245 

The brass that seems to speak ; — 
Such cunning they who dwell on high 

Have given unto the Greek. 

XXIX 

'^ Hurrah ! for Manius Curius, 

The bravest son of Rome, 250 

Thrice in utmost need sent forth. 

Thrice drawn in triumph home. 



136 SELECTED POEMS 

Weave, weave, for Manius Curius 

The third embroidered gown : 
Make ready the third lofty car, 

And twine the third green crown ; 
And yoke the steeds of Rosea 

With necks Hke a bended bow, 
And deck the bull, Mevania's bull, 

The bull as white as snow. 

XXX 

" Blest and thrice blest the Roman 

Who sees Rome's brightest day. 
Who sees that long victorious pomp 

Wind down the Sacred Way, 
And through the bellowing Forum 

And round the Suppliant's Grove,^ 
Up to the everlasting gates 

Of Capitolian Jove. 

XXXI 

" Then where, o'er two bright havens. 
The towers of Corinth frown ; 

Where the gigantic King of Day 
On his own Rhodes looks down ; 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 137 

Where soft Orontes murmurs 

Beneath the laurel shades ; 
Where Nile reflects the endless length 275 

Of dark-red colonnades ; 
Where in the still deep water, ^ 

Sheltered from waves and blasts, 
Bristles the dusky forest 

Of Byrsa's thousand masts ; 280 

Where fur-clad hunters wander 

Amidst the northern ice ; 
Where through the sand of morning-land 

The camel bears the spice ; 
Where Atlas flings his shadow 285 

Far o'er the western foam, 
Shall be great fear on all who hear 

The mighty name of Rome/' 



THE RAVEN 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 
•and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 
lore — 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came 
a tapping 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber 
door. 

'^ 'Tis some visitor,'' I muttered, '^ tapping at my cham- 
ber door : 6 
Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak Decem- 
ber, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon 
the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought 
to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the 
lost Lenore — lo 

138 



THE RA VEN 139 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 
Lenore : 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple 

curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never 

felt before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 

repeating 15 

'^ 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door. 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 

door :° 

This it is and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no 
longer, 

^' Sir,'' said I, ^^ or Madam, truly your forgiveness I 
implore ; 20 

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came 
rapping. 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham- 
ber door, 



140 SELECTED POEMS 

That I scarce was sure I heard you ^' — here I opened 
wide the door : 

Darkness there and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there 

wondering, fearing, 25 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 

dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 

no token, * 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered 

word, " Lenore ! '' — 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 

'' Lenore ! '^ 

Merely this and nothing more. 30 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me 
burning. 

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than 
before. 

" Surely,'' said I, ^^ surely that is something at my win- 
dow lattice ; 

Let me see, then, what thereat is^ and this mystery 
explore ; 



THE RAVEN 141 

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery ex- 
plore : 35 
'Tis the wind and nothing more/' 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
and flutter 

In there stepped a stately Raven° of the saintly days 
of yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped 
or stayed he; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- 
ber door, 40 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas° just above my cham- 
ber door : 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smil- 
ing, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 
wore, — 

'^ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,'' I said, 
'^ art sure no craven, 45 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the 
Nightly shore : 



142 SELECTED POEMS 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ! '' 

Quoth the Raven, ^^ Nevermore/' 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 
so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy 
bore ; 50 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- 
ber door, 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham- 
ber door, 

With such name as '^ Nevermore.'' 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke 

only 55 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then 

he fluttered, 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — ^^ Other friends 

have flown before ; 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have 

flown before." 

Then the bird said, '^ Nevermore." 60 



THE RAVEN 143 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

^^ Doubtless/' said I, '' what it utters is its only stock 
and store, 

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful 
Disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one bur- 
den bore : 

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden"^ 
bore 65 

Of ^ Never — nevermore/ '^ 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and 

bust and door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of 

yore, 70 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous ^ 

bird of yore 

Meant in croaking, ^' Nevermore." 

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable express- 
ing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my 
bosom's core; 



144 SELECTED POEMS 



\ 



This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease 
recHning 75 

On the cushion's velvet hning that the lamphght 
gloated o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight 
gloating o'er 

She shall press, ah, nevermore. 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from 

an unseen censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the 

tufted floor. 80 

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by 

these angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories 

of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost 

Lenore ! " 

Quoth the Raven,," Nevermore.'' 

" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! — 85 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 
here ashore, 



THE RAVEN 145 

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted — 

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I 
implore — 

Is there — is there balm in Gilead° ? — tell me — tell 
me, I implore ! '' 

Quoth the Raven, ^^ Nevermore.'^ 90 

" Prophet ! '' said I, '^ thing of evil — prophet still, if 

bird or devil ! 
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God 

we both adore. 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant 

Aidenn,° 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore — 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore.'^ 95 

Quoth the Raven, '' Nevermore.'' 

'^ Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! '' I 
shrieked, upstarting : 

'' Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ! ^ 



146 SELECTED POEMS 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul 

hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneUness unbroken ! — quit the bust above 

my door ! lOO 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 

from off my door ! '^ 

Quoth the Raven, '' Nevermore/' 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 

sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber 

door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 

dreaming, 105 

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his 

shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 

on the floor 

Shall be lifted — Nevermore ! 



THE VISION OF. SIR LAUNFAL 

Prelude to Part First 

Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 5 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 

Not only around our infancy^ 

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; lo 

Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, 

We Sinais° climb and know it not. 

Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; 15 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives ; 

147 



148 SELECTED POEMS 

Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite ; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea. 20 

Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ; 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 

We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
At the deviFs booth are all things sold, 25 

Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
Bubbles we buy with a whole souFs tasking : 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'Tis only God may be had for the asking ; 30 

No price is set on the lavish summer ; 

June may be had by the poorest comer. 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 35 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 149 

Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 40 

And, groping blindly above it for Hght, 

CHmbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; 
The cowsHp startles in meadows green, 45 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 50 

And lets his illumined being overrun 

With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — 55 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? 

Now is the high-tide of the year. 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer. 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 60 

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it. 



150 SELECTED POEMS 

We are happy now because God \\dlls it ; 

No matter how barren the past may have been, 

'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 

We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 65 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 

We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 

That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 

The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 

That dandehons are blossoming near, 70 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing. 
That the river is bluer than the sky. 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back. 
For other couriers we should not lack ; 75 

We could guess it all by yon heifer^s lowing, — 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer. 
Warmed with the new wine of the year. 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; 80 

Everything is happy now. 

Everything is upward striving ; 
^Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 

'Tis the natural way of living : 85 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 151 

Who knows whither the clouds have fled ? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache ; 
The soul partakes of the season^s youth, 90 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
Remembered the keeping of his vow ? 95 

Part First 

I 
'^ My golden spurs now bring to me. 

And bring to me my richest mail, 
For to-morrow I go over land and sea 

In search of the Holy Grail ; 
Shall never a bed for me be spread, lOO 

Nor shall a pillow be under my head. 
Till I begin my vow to keep ; 
Here on the rushes will I sleep. 
And perchance there may come a vision true 
Ere day create the world anew/' 105 



152 SELECTED POEMS 

Slowly Sir LaunfaPs eyes grew dim, 
Slumber fell like a cloud on him, 
And into his soul the vision flew. 

II 

The crows flapped over by twos and threes, 

In the pool di*owsed the cattle up to their knees, no 

The little birds sang as if it were 

The one day of summer in all the year. 
And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees : 
The castle alone in the landscape lay 
Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray ; 115 

'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree,^ 
And never its gates might opened be, 
Save to lord or lady of high degree ; 
Summer besieged it on every side, 

But the churlish stone her assaults defied ; 120 

She could not scale the chilly wall. 
Though round it for leagues her pavilions tall 
Stretched left and right. 
Over the hills and out of sight ; 

Green and broad was every tent, 125 

And out of each a murmur went 
Till the breeze fell off at night. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 153 

III 

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 

And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 

Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, 130 

In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 

It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 

Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 

In the siege of three hundred summers long. 
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf, 135 

Had cast them forth : so, young and strong. 
And lightsome as a locust-leaf. 
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail, 
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 

IV 

It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 140 

And morning in the young knight's heart ; 

Only the castle moodily 

Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free. 
And gloomed by itself apart ; 

The season brimmed all other things up 145 

Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 



154 SELECTED POEMS 

V 

As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, 

He was Vare of a leper, crouched by the same, 
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ; 

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came ; 150 

The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill. 

The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, 
And midway its leap hig heart stood still 

Like a frozen waterfall ; 
For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 155 

Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 
And seemed the one blot on the summer morn, — 
So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 

VI 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust : 

'^ Better to me the poor man's crust, 160 

Better the blessing of the poor. 

Though I turn me empty from his door ; 

That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; 

He gives nothing but worthless gold 

Who gives from a sense of duty ; ' 165 

But he who gives a slender mite. 
And gives to that which is out of sight. 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 155 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all unite, — 
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 170 

The heart outstretches its eager palms. 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starving in darkness before/^ 

Prelude to Part Second^ 
Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak. 

From the snow five thousand summers old ; 175 

On open wold and hill-top bleak 

It had gathered all the cold. 
And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; 
It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare ; 180 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 
'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof ; 
All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 
He groined his arches and matched his beams ; 
Slender and clear were his crystal spars 185 

As the lashes of Hght that trim the stars ; 
He sculptured every summer delight 
In his halls and chambers out of sight ; 
Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 



166 SELECTED POEMS 

Down through a frost-leaved forest-cr3^t, 190 

Long, sparkhng aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew; 

Sometimes it was carved in sharp rehef 195 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf ; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 

And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 200 

That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, 

And made a star of every one : 

No mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice ; 

'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 205 

In his depths serene through the summer day. 

Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, 

Lest the happy model should be lost, 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 210 

Within the hall are song and laughter. 

The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 157 

And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With lightsome green of ivy and holly ; 

Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 215 

Wallows the Yule-log^s roaring tide ; 

The broad flame-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind ; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 

Hunted to death in its galleries blind ; 220 

And swift little troops of silent sparks, 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
Go threading the soot-forest^s tangled darks, 

Like herds of startled deer. 

But the wind without was eager and sharp, 225 

Of Sir LaunfaFs gray hair it makes a harp, 
And rattles and wrings 
The icy strings, 

Singing, in dreary monotone, 

A Christmas carol of its own, 230 

Whose burden still, as he might guess. 

Was — '' Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless ! ^' 
The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch 
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 
And he sat in the gateway and saw all night 235 



158 SELECTED POEMS 

The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold, 
Through the window-slits of the castle old, 
Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold. 

Part Second 



There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 240 

The bare boughs rattled shudderingly ; 
The river was numb and could not speak, 

For the weaver Winter ° its shroud had spun; 
A single crow on the tree-top bleak 

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun. 245 
Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, 
As if her veins were sapless and old, 
And she rose up decrepitly 
For a last dim look at earth and sea. 

II 

Sir Launf al turned from his own hard gate, 250 

For another heir in his earldom sate ; 

An old, bent man, worn out and frail. 

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail ; 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 159 

Little he recked of his earldom^s loss, 

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 255 

But deep in his soul the sign he wore, 

The badge of the suffering and the poor. 

Ill 

Sir LaunfaFs raiment thin and spare 

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 

For it was just at the Christmas time ; 260 

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime. 

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 

In the light and warmth of long ago ; 

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, 265 

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 

He can count the camels in the sun, 

As over the red-hot sands they pass 

To where, in its slender necklace of grass. 

The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 270 

And with its own self like an infant played, 

And waved its signal of palms. 

IV 

'' For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms ; '' 
The happy camels may reach the spring. 



160 SELECTED POEMS 

But Sir Launfal sees only the gruesome thing, 275 

The leper, ° lank as the rain-blanched bone, 
That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas 
In the desolate horror of his disease. 



And Sir Launfal said, — ^^ I behold in thee 280 

An image of Him who died on the tree ; 

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, — 

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, — 

And to thy life were not denied 

The wounds in the hands and feet and side ; 285 

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; 

Behold, through him, I give to Thee ! '^ 

VI 

Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 
And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 

Remembered in what a haughtier guise 290 

He had flung an alms to leprosie,^ 

When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 

And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 

The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 

He parted in twain his single crust, 295 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 161 

He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 

And gave the leper to eat and drink ; 

'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 

'Twas water out of a wooden bowl, — 
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 300 

And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 

VII 

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place ; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side. 

But stood before him glorified, 305 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — 

Himself the Gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 309 

VIII 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine. 

And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine. 

Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 

And the voice that was calmer than silence said, 

^^ Lo, it is I, be not afraid ! 3i5 

M 



162 SELECTED POEMS 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 

Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now ; 

This crust is my body broken for thee,° 320 

This water His blood that died on the tree ; 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed. 

In whatso we share with another's need, — 

Not what we give, but what we share, — 

For the gift without the giver is bare ; 325 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, - - 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me/' 

IX 

Sir Launf al awoke, as from a swound ; — 

'^ The Grail in my castle here is found ! 

Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 330 

Let it be the spider's banquet-hall ; 

He must be fenced with stronger mail 

Who would seek and find the Holy Grail.'' 

X 

The castle gate stands open now. 

And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 335 

As the hangbird is to the elm tree bough ; 



THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 163 

No longer scowl the turrets tall, 
The Summer^s long siege at last is o^er ; 
When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
She entered with him in disguise, 340 

And mastered the fortress by surprise ; 
There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 
She lingers and smiles there the whole year round ; 
The meanest serf on Sir LaunfaFs land 
Has hall and bower at his command ; 345 

And there's no poor man in the North Countree 
But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 



AN EPISODE^ 



And the first grey of morning filFd the east, 

And the fog rose out of the Oxus° stream. 

But all the Tartar camp along the stream 

Was hushed, and still the men were plunged in sleep ; 

Sohrab alone, he" slept not ; all night long 5 

He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed ; 

But when the grey dawn stole into his tent, 

He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, 

And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, 

And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 10 

Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's° tent. 

Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood 

Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand 

Of Oxus, where the summer-floods overflow 

When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere ; 15 

Through the black tents he passed, o'er that low strand, 

And to a hillock came, a little back 

From the stream's brink — the spot where first a boat, 

Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. 

164 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 165 

The men of former times had crowned the top 20 

With a clay fort ; but that was falFn, and now 

The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 

A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. 

And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood 

Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, 25 

And found the old man sleeping on his bed 

Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. 

And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 

Was duird ; for he slept light, an old man's sleep ; 

And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : — 30 

^^ Who art thou ?' for it is not yet clear dawn. 
Speak ! is there news, or any night alarm ? '' 

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said : — 
^' Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is I. 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 35 

Sleep ; but I sleep not ; all night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son. 
In Samarcand, before the army march'd ; 40 

And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars and bore arms. 



166 SELECTED POEMS 

I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 

At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 45 

This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on 

The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, 

And beat the Persians back on every field, 

I seek one man, one man, and one alone — 

Rustum, my father ; who I hoped should greet, 50 

Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 

His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 

So I long hoped, but him I never find. 

Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. 

Let the two armies rest to-day ; but I 55 

Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 

To meet me, man to man ; if I prevail, 

Rustum will surely hear it ; if I fall — 

Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 

Dim is the rumor of a common fight, 60 

Where host meets host, and many names are sunk ; 

But of a single combat fame speaks clear. ''° 

He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa took the hand 
Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said : — 

'^ O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! 65 

Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs. 
And share the battle's common chance with us 



SOBRAB AND RUSTUM 167 

Who love thee, but must press for ever first, 

In single fight incurring single risk. 

To find a father thou hast never seen ? 70 

That were far best, my son, to stay with us 

Unmurmuring ; in our tents, while it is war. 

And when ^tis truce, then in Afrasiab^s towns. 

But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 

To seek out Rustum — seek him not through fight ! 75 

Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 

O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 

But far hence seek him, for he is not here. 

For now it is not as when I was young. 

When Rustum was in front of every fray ; 80 

But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, 

In Seistan, with Zal, his father old. 

Whether that his own mighty strength at last 

Feels the abhorrM approaches of old age. 

Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. 85 

There go ! — Thou wilt not ? Yet my heart forebodes 

Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 

Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 

To us ; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 

To seek thy father, not seek single fights 90 

In vain ; — but who can keep the lion^s cub 



168 SELECTED POEMS 

From ravening, and who govern Rustum's son ? 
Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires. '^ 

So said he, and droppM Sohrab^s hand, and left 
His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; 95 

And o^er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet, 
And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; 
And on his head he set his sheepskin cap, lOO 

Black, glossy, curFd, the fleece of Kara-Kul ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and calFd 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 

The sun by this had risen, and cleared the fog 
From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. 105 

And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed 
Into the open plain ; so Haman bade — 
Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled 
The host, and still v/as in his lusty prime. 
From their black tents°, long files of horse they streamed; 
As when some grey November morn° the files, ill 

In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes 
Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes 
Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries. 
Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound 115 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 169 

For the warm Persian sea-board — so they streamed. 

The Tartars of the Oxus, the King^s guard, 

First, with black sheepskin caps and with long spears ; 

Large men, large steeds ; who from Bokhara come 

And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 120 

Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south, 

The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 

And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands ; 

Light men and on light steeds, who only drink 

The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 125 

And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came 

From far, and a more doubtful service own^d ; 

The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 

Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards 

And close-set skull-caps ; and those wilder hordes 130 

Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste, 

Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes who stray 

Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, 

Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere ; 

These all filed out from camp into the plain. 135 

And on the other side the Persians form'd ; — 

First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd, 

The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind. 

The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, 



170 SELECTED POEMS 

Marshaird battalions bright in burnished steel. 140 

But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, 

Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, 

And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. 

And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 

That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 145 

He took his spear, and to the front he came. 

And checked his ranks, and fix^d them where they stood. 

And the old Tartar came upon the sand 

Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said : — 

'^ Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear ! 150 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man.'' 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 155 

A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy — 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they loved. 

But as a troop of pedlers, from Cabool, 160 

Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk snow ; 
Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 111 

Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow, 
Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves 165 
Slake their parched throats with sugarM mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath. 
For fear they should dislodge the overhanging snows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. 

And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 170 

To counsel ; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 
And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host 
Second, and was the uncle of the King ; 
These came and counselled, and then Gudurz said : — 

^^ Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, 175 
Yet champion have we none to match this youth. 
He has the wild stages foot, the hon^s heart. 
But Rustum came last night ; aloof he sits 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart. 
Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 180 

The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name. 
Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up.'' 

So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and cried : — 
'^ Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said ! 185 

Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 
He spake : and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode 



172 SELECTED POEMS 

Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 189 

And crossed the camp which lay behind, and reached, 
Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum^s tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, 
Just pitchM ; the high pavilion in the midst 
Was Rustum's, and his men lay camped around. 
And Gudurz entered Rustum's tent, and found 195 

Rustum ; his morning meal was done, but still 
The table stood before him, charged with food — 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread. 
And dark green melons ; and there Rustum sate 
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, 200 

And played with it ; but Gudurz came and stood 
Before him ; and he looked, and saw him stand. 
And with a cry sprang up and dropped the bird, 
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said : — 

^' Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight. 205 
What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink.'^ 

But Gudurz stood in the tent-door, and said : — 
^^ Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink, 
But not to-day ; to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze ; 210 

For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 173 

To pick a champion from the Persian lords 

To fight their champion — and thou know'st his name — 

Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 

Rustum, like thy might is this young man's ! 215 

He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart ; 

And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, 

Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 

Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose ! '' 

He spoke ; but Rustum answer'd with a smile :— 220 
'^ Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I ' 
Am older ; if the young are weak, the King 
Errs strangely ; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 
Himself is young, and honors younger men, 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225 

Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young — 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame ? 
For would that I myself had such a son. 
And not that one slight helpless girP I have — 230 

A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 235 



174 SELECTED POEMS 

There would I go, and hang my armor up, 

And with my great name fence that weak old man, 

And spend the goodly treasures I have got, 

And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame. 

And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 240 

And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more. '^ 

He spoke, and smiled ; and Gudurz made reply : — 
^^ What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks 
Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 245 
Hides t thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : 
Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame. 
And shuns to peril it with younger men.'^ 

And, greatly moved, then Rustum made reply : — 
^' Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words ? 250 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or famed. 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me ? 
Are not they mortal, am not I myself ? 
But who for men of nought would do great deeds ? 255 
Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame ! 
But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms° ; 
Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd 
In single fight with any mortal man/' 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 175 

He spoke, and frown'd ; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran 
Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy — 261 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. 
But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and calFd 
His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, 
And clad himself in steel ; the arms he chose 265 

Were plain, and on his shield was no device. 
Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold. 
And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume 
Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. 
So arm'd, he issued forth ; and Ruksh, his horse, 270 
Followed him like a faithful hound at heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth, 
The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find 

A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, 275 

And reared him ; a bright bay, with lofty crest, 
Dight with a saddle-cloth of broider^d green 
Crusted with gold, and on the ground were worked 
All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. 
So followM, Rustum left his tents, and crossed 280 

The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts 
Haird ; but the Tartars knew not who he was. 



176 SELECTED POEMS 

And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 

Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, 285 

By sandy Bahrein^ in the Persian Gulf, 

Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, 

Having made up his tale of precious pearls. 

Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands — 

So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 290 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, 
And Sohrab arm'd in Haman^s tent, and came. 
And as afield the reapers cut a swath 
Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, 
And on each side are squares of standing corn, 295 

And in the midst a stubble, short and bare — 
So on each side were squares of men, with spears 
Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 300 

Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. 

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn,° 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge 
Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire — 
At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, 305 

When the frost flowers the whiten'd window-panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 177 

Of that poor drudge may be ; so Rustum eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 

All the most vahant chiefs ; long he perused 
His spirited air, and wonder^ who he was. 
For very young he seem'd, tenderly reared ; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, 
Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 315 

Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 
So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly reared. 
And a deep pity entered Rustum's soul 
As he beheld him coming ; and he stood, 320 

And beckon' d to him with his hand, and said : — 
^^ thou young man,° the air of Heaven is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave is cold ! 
Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. 
Behold me ! I am vast, and clad in iron, 325 

And tried ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe — 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 
O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death ? 
Be govern'd ! quit the Tartar host, and come 330 

To Iran, and be as my son to me, 



178 SELECTED POEMS 

And fight beneath my banner till I die ! 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou/' 

So he spake, mildly ; Sohrab heard his voice, 
The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw 335 

His giant figure planted on the sand. 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Hath builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers ; and he saw that head. 
Streaked with its first grey hairs ; — hope filled his soul 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees, 341 

And clasp' d his hand within his own, and said : — 

^' O, by thy father's head ! by thine own soul ! 
Art thou not Rustum ? speak ! art thou not he ? '' 

But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, 345 
And turned away,* and spake to his own soul : — 

^^ Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean ! 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks. 
And hide it not, but say : Rustum is here ! 350 

He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, 
But he will find some pretext not to fight. 
And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, 
A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 
And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 179 

In Samarcand, he will arise and cry : 

' I challenged once, when the two armies camped 

Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 

To cope with me in single fight ; but they 

Shrank, only Rustum dared ; then he and I 360 

Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away/ 

So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud ; 

Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me/' 

And then he turned, and sternly spake aloud : — 
'^ Rise ! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365 
Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast calFd 
By challenge forth ; make good thy vaunt, or yield ! 
Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight ? 
Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee ! 
For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 370 

Before thy face this day, and were reveaPd, 
There would be then no talk of fighting more. 
But being what I am, I tell thee this — 
Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 
Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 375 
Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds 
Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, 
Oxus in summer wash them all away.'' 

He spoke ; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet : — 



180 SELECTED POEMS 



(C 



Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright me so ! 380 
I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 
Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand 
Here on this field, there were no fighting then. 
But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 385 

And thou art proved, I know, and I am young — 
But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. 
And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 
Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390 

Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate. 
Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. 
And whether it will heave us up to land, 
Or whether it will roll us out to sea. 
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 395 

We know not, and no search will make us know ; 
Only the event will teach us in its hour.'^ 

He spoke, and Rustum answered not, but hurFd 
His spear ; down from the shoulder, down it came, 
As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, 400 

That long has towered in the airy clouds. 
Drops like a plummet ; Sohrab saw it come. 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash ; the spear 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 181 

Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, 
Which it sent flying wide ; — then Sohrab threw 405 
In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield ; sharp rang, 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turned the spear. 
And Rustum seized* his club, which none but he 
Could wield ; an unlopp^d trunk it was, and huge, 
Still rough — like those which men in treeless plains 
To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, 411 
Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up 
By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time 
Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack. 
And strewn the channels with torn boughs — so huge 
The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck 4i6 

One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside. 
Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand. 
And Rustum followed his own blow, and fell 420 

To his knees, and with his fingers clutched the sand : 
And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword. 
And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand ; 
But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, 425 
But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said : — 
'^ Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float 



182 SELECTED POEMS 

Upon the summer-floods, and not m}" bones. 

But rise, and be not wroth ! not wroth am I ; 

No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. 430 

Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum ; be it so ! 

Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul ? 

Boy as I am, I have seen battles too — 

Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, 

And heard their hollow roar of dying men ; 435 

But never was my heart thus touched before. 

Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart ? 

O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! 

Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, 

And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 440 

And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, 

And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. 

There are enough foes in the Persian host. 

Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang ; 

Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 445 

Mayst fight; fight them, when they confront thy spear ! 

But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me! '' 

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, 
And stood erect, trembling with rage ; his club 
He left to lie, but had regain^ his spear, 450 

Whose fiery point now in his maiFd right-hand 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 183 

Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star, 
The baleful sign of fevers ; dust had soiPd 
His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. 454 
His breast heaved, his lips foamed, and twice his voice 
Was choked with rage ; at last these words broke way : — 

'^ Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands ! 
CurFd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words ! 
Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more ! 
Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 460 

With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance ; 
But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, who make no play 
Of war ; I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine ! 465 
Remember all thy valor ; try thy feints 
And cunning ! all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girFs wiles.'' 

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, 470 

And he too drew his sword ; at once they rush'd 
Together, as two eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds. 
One from the east, one from the west ; their shields 
Dash'd with a clang together, and a din 475 



184 SELECTED POEMS 

Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 

Make often in the forest's heart at morn, 

Of hewing axes, crashing trees — such blows 

Rustum and Sohrab on each other haiFd, 

And you would say that sun and stars took part 480 

In that unnatural conflict ; for a cloud 

Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun 

Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 

Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, 

And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. 485 

In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone ; 

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 

Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, 

And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 

But in the gloom they fought, ^vith bloodshot eyes 490 

And laboring breath ; first Rustum struck the shield 

Which Sohrab held stiff out ; the steel-spiked spear 

Rent the tough plates, but faiFd to reach the skin. 

And Rustum pluck' d it back with angry groan. 

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum' s helm, 495 

Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the crest 

He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume. 

Never till now defiled, sank to the dust ; 

And Rustum bow'd his head ; but then the gloom 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 185 

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 500 

And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Ruksh, the horse, 

Who stood at hand, utter M a dreadful cry ; — 

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 

Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day 

Hath traiFd the hunter's javehn in his side, 505 

And comes at night to die upon the sand. 

The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear. 

And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 

But Sohrab heard, and quaiFd not, but rush'd on, 

And struck again ; and again Rustum bow'd 5io 

His head ; but this time all the blade, like glass. 

Sprang in, a thousand shivers on the helm. 

And in the hand the hilt remained alone. 

Then Rustum raised his head ; his dreadful e^^es 

Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 5i5 

And shouted : Rustum! — Sohrab heard that shout. 

And shrank amazed ; back he recoiFd one step, 

And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form ; 

And then he stood bewildered ; and he dropped 

His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. 520 

He reeled, and staggering back, sank to the ground ; 

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell. 

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all 



186 SELECTED POEMS 

The cloud ; and the two armies saw the pair — 

Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 525 

And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. 

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began : — 
^^ Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab^s tent. 530 

Or else that the great Rustum would come down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
And then that all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 535 

To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old.'' 

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied : — 540 
^^ Unknown thou art ; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! 
No ! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For were I matched with ten such men as thee, 
And I were that which till to-day I was, 545 

They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm — 



SOHRAB AWD RUSTUM 187 

That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 

Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield 

Fall ; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. 550 

And now thou boastest, and insult^st my fate. 

But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear : 

The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death ! 

My father, whom I seek through all the world. 

He shall avenge my death, and punish thee ! '' 555 

As when some hunter in the spring hath found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nest. 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake. 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose. 
And followed her to find her where she fell 560 

Far off ; — anon her mate comes winging back 
From hunting, and a great way off descries 
His huddling young left sole ; at that, he checks 
His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565 

Chiding his mate back to her nest ; but she 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 
A heap of fluttering feathers — never more 
Shall the lake glass her, flying over it ; 570 

Never the black and dripping precipices 



188 SELECTED POEMS 

Echo her stormy scream as she sails by — 

As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, 

So Riistum knew not his own loss, but stood 

Over his dying son, and knew him not. 675 

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said : — 
'' What prate is this of fathers and revenge ? 
The mighty Rustum never had a son/' 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : — 
^^ Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 580 

Surely the news will one day reach his ear. 
Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long. 
Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here ; 
And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap 
To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 585 

Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son ! 
What will that grief, what will that vengeance be ? 
Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen ! 
Yet him I pity not so much, but her. 
My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 590 

With that old king, her father, who grows grey 
With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. 
Her most I pity, who no more will see 
Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 
With spoils and honor, when the war is done. 695 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 189 

But a dark rumor will be bruited up, 

From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear ; 

And then will that defenceless woman learn 

That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, 

But that in battle with a nameless foe, 600 

By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain/' 

He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud. 
Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 
He spoke; but Rustum hsten'd, plunged in thought. 
Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 

Who spoke, although he calFd back names he knew ; 
For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 
Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, 
Had been a puny girl, no boy at all — 
So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 6io 

Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms — 
And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, 
By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son ; 
Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 
So deem'd he ; yet he hsten'd, plunged in thought 6i5 
And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 
Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore 
At the full moon ; tears gathered in his eyes ; 
For he remembered his own early youth. 



190 SELECTED POEMS 

And all its bounding rapture ; as, at dawn, 620 

The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries 

A far, bright city, smitten by the- sun. 

Through many roUing clouds — so Rustum saw 

His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom; 

And that old king, her father, who loved well 625 

His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child 

With joy; and all the pleasant life they led. 

They three, in that long-distant summer-time — 

The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 

And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630 

In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth, 

Of age and looks to be his own dear son. 

Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand. 

Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe 

Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635 

Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 

And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom. 

On the mown, dying grass — So Sohrab lay. 

Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 

And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said : — 640 

'^ Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved ! 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 191 

Have told thee false — thou art not Rustum's son. 
For Rustum had no son ; one child he had — 645 

But one — a girl ; who with her mother now 
PHes some light female task, nor dreams of us — 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war/' 

But Sohrab answered him in wrath ; for now 
The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, 650 

And he desired to draw forth the steel. 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die — 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe ; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : — 

^^ Man, who art thou who dost deny my words ? 655 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men. 
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine. 
I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
That seal which Rustum to my mother gave. 
That she might prick it on the babe she bore.'' 660 

He spoke ; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, 
And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand. 
That the hard iron corslet clank'd aloud ; 
And to his heart he press'd the other hand, 665 

And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : — 

^^ Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie ! 



192 SELECTED POEMS 

If thou show this, then art thou Rustum^s son.'' 
Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed 
His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 

And showed a sign in faint vermilion points. 
Prick'd ; as a cunning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermihon some clear porcelain vase, 
An emperor's gift — at early morn he paints, 
And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands — 
So dehcately prick'd the sign appeared 
On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal. 
It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal, 
Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, 680 

A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks ; 
Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved — 
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bared that image on his arm. 
And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes, 685 
And then he touched it with his hand and said: — 

^'How say'st thou ? Is that sign the proper sign 
Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's ? " 

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood 
Speechless ; and then he utter'd one sharp cry : 690 
hoy — thy father ! and his voice choked there. 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 193 

And then a dark cloud pass'd before his eyes, 
And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. 
But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and cast 
His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips, 695 

And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, 
Trying to call him back to life ; and life 
Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes. 
And they stood wide with horror ; and he seized 
In both his hands the dust which lay around, 700 

And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair. 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms ; 
And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast. 
And his sobs choked him ; and he clutched his sword. 
To draw it, and for ever let life out. 705 

But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, 
And with a soothing voice he spake, and said : — 

^^ Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day 
The doom which at my birth was written down 709 
In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand. 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou. 
When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke too, 
I know it! but fate trod those promptings down 
Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engaged 
The strife, and hurFd me on my father's spear. 715 



194 SELECTED POEMS 

But let us speak no more of this ! I find 

My father ; let me feel that I have found ! 

Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 

My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, 

And wash them with thy tears, and say : My son ! 720 

Quick ! quick ! for numbered are my sands of life, 

And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 

I came, and like the wmd I go away — 

Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 

But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.'' 725 

So said he, and his voice released the heart 
Of Rustum, and his tears brake forth ; he cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud, 
And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, 
When they saw Rustum's grief ; and Ruksh, the horse. 
With his head bowing to the ground and mane 731 

Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe 
First to the one then to the other moved 
His head, as if enquiring what their grief 
Might mean ; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, 
The big warm tears rolFd down, and caked the sand. 736 
But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said': — 

'^ Ruksh, now thou grievest ; but, Ruksh, thy feet 
Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 195 

Or ere they brought thy master to this field ! '' 740 

But Sohrab looked upon the horse and said : — 
^' Is this, then, Ruksh ? How often, in past days, 
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed. 
My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said. 
That I should one day find thy lord and thee. 745 

Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! 
Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I; 
For thou hast gone where I shall never go. 
And snuff'd the breezes of my father's home. 
And thou hast trod the saiids of Seistan, 750 

And seen the River of Helmund, and the Lake 
Of Zirrah ; and the aged Zal himself 
Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food. 
Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine. 
And said : Ruksh! hear Rustum well ! — but I 755 
Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face. 
Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream ; 
But lodged among my father's foes, and seen 
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 

Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste. 
And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only drunk 
The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 



196 SELECTED POEMS 

Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, 

The northern Sir ; and this great Oxus stream, 765 

The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die/' 

Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed : — 
^^ Oh, that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head ! '' 770 

But, wath a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied : — 
'^ Desire not that, my father ! thou must live. 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live, 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 775 

And reap a second glory in thine age ; 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of men 
Which follow me ; I pray thee, slay not these ! 
Let me entreat for them ; what have they done ? 780 
They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star. 
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. 
But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, 
But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, 785 

Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends. 
And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, 



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 197 

And heap a stately mound above my bones, 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 

That so the passing horseman on the waste 790 

May see my tomb a great way off, and cry : 

Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies there, 

Whom his great father did in ignorance kill ! 

And I be not forgotten in my grave /^ 

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied : — 795 
'' Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, 
So shall it be ; for I will burn my tents. 
And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me. 
And carry thee away to Seistan, 

And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 800 

With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. 
And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 
And heap a stately mound above thy bones, 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 
And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. 805 

And I will spare thy host ; yea, let them go ! 
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace ! 
What should I do with slaying any more ? 
For would that all that I have ever slain 
Might be once more alive ; my bitterest foes, sio 

And they who were calFd champions in their time, 



198 SELECTED POEMS 

And through whose death I won that fame I have — 

And I were nothing but a common man, 

A poor, mean soldier, and without renown. 

So thou mightest Uve too, my son, my son ! 815 

Or rather would that I, even I myself. 

Might now be lying on this bloody sand. 

Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, 

Not thou of mine ! and I might die, not thou ; 

And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan ; 820 

And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine ; 

And say : son^ I weep thee not too sore, 

For ivillinglyj I knoWj thou met^st thine end! 

But now in blood and battles was my youth, 

And full of blood and battles is my age, 825 

And I shall never end this life of blood/' 

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied : — 
^' A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man° ! 
But thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now. 
Not yet ! but thou shalt have it on that day, 830 

When thou shalt sail in a high-mavSted ship. 
Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, 
Returning home over the salt blue sea. 
From laying thy dear master in his grave/' 

And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said : — 835 



SOHRAB AND RUSfUM 199 

^^ Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure/' 

He spoke ; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased 
His wound's imperious anguish ; but the blood 840 

Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flowed with the stream ; — all down his cold white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiUd, 
Like the soiFd tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank, 845 

By children whom their nurses call with haste 
Indoors from the sun's eye ; his head droop'd low. 
His limbs grew slack ; motionless, white, he lay — 
White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy gasps, 
Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, 850 
Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them. 
And fix'd them feebly on his father's face ; 
Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs 
Unwilhngiy the spirit fled away. 

Regretting the warm mansion which it left, 855 

And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. 

So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead ; 
And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 



200 SELECTED POEMS 

As those black granite pillars, once high-reared 860 

By Jemshid in PersepoUs, to bear 

-His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps 

Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side — 

So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 

And night came down over the solemn waste, 865 
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair. 
And darkened all ; and a cold fog, with night, 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose. 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now 870 

Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal ; 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward, the Tartars by the river marge ; 
And Rustum and his son were left alone. 

But the majestic river floated on,° ' 875 

Out of the mist and hum of that low land. 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved. 
Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste, 
Under the solitary moon ; — he flowed 
Right for the polar star, past Orgunje, 880 

Brimming, and bright, and large ; then sands begin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams. 
And split his currents ; that for many a league 



SOHEAB AND BUSTUM 201 

The shorn and parceird Oxus strains along 

Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles — 885 

Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 

In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, 

A foiVd circuitous wanderer — till at last 

The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 

His luminous home of waters opens, bright - 890 

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars 

Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 



MILES STANDISH® 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the 
Pilgrims, 

To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwell- 
ing, 

Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan 
leather, 

Strode, with a martial air. Miles Standish the Puritan 
Captain. 

Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind 
him, and pausing 5 

Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of war- 
fare. 

Hanging in shining array along the walls of the cham- 
ber, — 

Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of 
Damascus, 

Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical 
Arabic sentence, 

202 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 203 

While underneath, in a corner, were fowUng-piece, 
musket, and matchlock. lo 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic. 

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and 
sinews of iron ; 

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard wais 
already 

Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in 
November. 

Near him was seated John Alden,° his friend and house- 
hold companion, 15 

Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the 
window ; 

Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complex- 
ion. 

Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, 
as the captives 

Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, '^ Not An- 
gles but Angels. ^^ 

Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the 
Mayflower. 20 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the dihgent scribe 
interrupting. 



204 SELECTED POEMS 

Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the 

Captain of Plymouth. 
'^ Look at these arms/' he said, ^^ the warlike weapons 

that hang here 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or 

inspection ! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders ; 

this breastplate, 25 

Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skir- 
mish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.° 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of 

Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the 

Flemish morasses/' 30 

Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up 

from his writing : 
'' Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed 

of the bullet ; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our 

weapon ! '' 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of 

the stripling : 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 205 

'^ See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal 
hanging ; 35 

That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to 
others. 

Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent 
adage ; 

So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your 
inkhorn. 

Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible 
army. 

Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his 
matchlock, 40 

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pil- 
lage. 

And, Hke Caesar, I know the name of each of my 
soldiers!^' 

This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the 
sunbeams 

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a 
moment. 

Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain con- 
tinued : 45 

^^ Look ! you can see from this window my brazen how- 
itzer planted 



206 SELECTED POEMS 

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks 

to the purpose, 
Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible 

logic. 
Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of 

the heathen. 
Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the 

Indians : 50 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it 

the better, — 
Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or 

pow-wow, 
Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamaha- 

mon ! '^ 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on 
the landscape. 

Washed with a cold grey mist, the vapory breath of the 
east-wind, 55 

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the 
ocean, 

Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sun- 
shine. 

Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the 
landscape, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 207 

Gloom intermingled with light ; and his voice was sub- 
dued with emotion, 

Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he pro- 
ceeded : 60 

'^ Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose 
Standish ; 

Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the way- 
side ! 

She was the first to die of all who came in the May- 
flower ! 

Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have 
sown there, 

Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our 
people, 65 

Lest they should count them and see how many already 
have perished ! '^ ' 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and 
was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and 

among them 
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for 

binding ; 
Barriffe^s Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of 

Caesar, 70 



208 SELECTED POEMS 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of Lon- 
don, 

And, as if guarded by these, between them was stand- 
ing the Bible, 

Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, 
as if doubtful 

Which of the three he should choose for his consolation 
and comfort, 

Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns 
of the Romans, 75 

Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Chris- 
tians. 

Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous 
Roman, 

Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and 
in silence 

Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks 
thick on the margin. 

Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hot- 
test. 80 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of 
the stripling. 

Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May- 
flower, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 209 

Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, 

God willing ! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible 

winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Pris- 

cilla,° 85 

Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden 

Priscilla ! 



II 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 

of the stripling, 
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the 

Captain, 
Reading the marvellous words and achievements of 

Julius Caesar. 
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand 

palm downwards, 90 

Heavily on the page : ^^ A wonderful man was this 

Caesar ! 

You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a 

fellow 
p 



210 SELECTED POEMS 

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally 
skilful ! '' 

Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the 
comely, the youthful : 

'^ Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen 
and his weapons. 95 

Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could 
dictate 

Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his 
memoirs.'^ 

'^ Truly,'' continued the Captain, not heeding or hear- 
ing the other, 

^^ Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar ! 

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 100 

Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when 
he said it. 

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many 
times after ; 

Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities 
he conquered ; 

He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has re- 
corded ; 

Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Bru- 
tus ! 105 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 211 

Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in 
Flanders, 

When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front 
giving way too. 

And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely 
together 

There was no room for their swords ? Why, he seized 
a shield from a soldier. 

Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and com- 
manded the captains, no 

Calhng on each by his name, to order forward the en- 
signs ; 

Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their 
weapons ; 

So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. 

That's what I always say ; if you wish a thing to be well 
done. 

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to 
others ! '' 115 

All was silent again ; the Captain continued his read- 
ing. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen 
of the stripling 



212 SELECTED POEMS 

Writing epistles important to go next day by the May- 
flower, 

Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan 
maiden Priscilla ; 

Every sentence began or closed with the name of Pris- 
cilla 120 

Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the 
secret, 

Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of 
Priscilla ! 

Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous 
cover. 

Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his 
musket. 

Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Cap- 
tain of Plymouth : 125 

'^ When you have finished your work, I have something 
important to tell you. 

Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall not be im- 
patient ! ^^ 

Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his 
letters. 

Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful atten- 
tion : 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 213 

'^ Speak ; for whenever you speak, I am always ready 
to listen, 130 

Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Stan- 
dish/^ 

Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and cull- 
ing his phrases : 

'^ ^Tis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. 

This I have said before^ and again and again I repeat 

it; ^ 

Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. 

Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and 
dreary ; 136 

Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friend- 
ship. 

Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden 
Priscilla. 

She is alone in the world ; her father and mother and 
brother 

Died in the winter together ; I saw her going and com- 
ing, 140 

Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the 
dying. 

Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, 
that if ever 



214 SELECTED POEMS 

There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, 
Two have I seen and known ; and the angel whose name 

is Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the place which the other aban- 
doned. 145 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared 

to reveal it, 
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the 

most part. 
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Pl3nii- 

outh. 
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but 

of actions. 
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a 

soldier. 150 

Not in these words, you know, .but this in short is my 

meaning ; 
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant 

language. 
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and 

wooings of lovers. 
Such as you think .best adapted to win the heart of a 

maiden.'' 155 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 215 

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, 
taciturn striphng, 

All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewil- 
dered. 

Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with 
Hghtness, 

Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in 
his bosom. 

Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by 
lightning, 160 

Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than 
answered : 

'^ Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and 
mar it ; 

If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating 
your maxim, — 

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to 
others ! ^' 

But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from 
his purpose, 165 

Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of 
Plymouth : 

^^ Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gain- 
say it ; 



216 SELECTED POEMS 

But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for 
nothing. 

Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of 
phrases. 

I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to 
surrender, 170 

But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare 
not. 

I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a 
cannon. 

But of a thundering ' No ! ' point-blank from the mouth 
of a woman. 

That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to con- 
fess it ! 

So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant 
scholar, 175 

Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of 
phrases.'' 

Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant 
and doubtful. 

Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he 
added : 

'^ Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feel- 
ing that prompts me ; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 217 

Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our 
friendship ! '' 180 

Then made answer John Alden : '^ The name of friend- 
ship is sacred ; 

What you demand in that name, I have not the power 
to deny you ! ^' 

So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding 
the gentler, 

Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his 
errand. 



Ill 

THE lover's errand 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his 

errand, 185 

Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of 

the forest, 
Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins 

were building 
Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of 

verdure, 
Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 



218 SELECTED POEMS 

All around him was calm, but within him commotion 
and conflict, 190 

Love contending with friendship, and self with each 
generous impulse. 

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and 
dashing. 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel. 

Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean ! 

^^ Must I rehnquish it all,'' he cried with a wild lamen- 
tation, 195 

^^ Must I relinquish it all, the joj^, the hope, the illusion ? 

Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped 
in silence ? 

Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the 
shadow 

Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New Eng- 
land? 

Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of 
corruption 200 

Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; 

Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of 
Satan. 

All is clear to me now ; I feel it, I see it distinctly ! 

This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in anger, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 219 

For I have followed too much the hearths desires and 
devices, 205 

Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of 
Baal. 

This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the swift 
retribution.'' 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on 

his errand ; 
Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over 

pebble and shallow. 
Gathering still as he went, the Mayflowers blooming 

around him, 210 

Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful 

sweetness. 
Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in 

their slumber. 
'^ Puritan flowers,'' he said, ^^ and the type of Puritan 

maidens. 
Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla ! 
So I will take them to her ; to Priscilla the Mayflower 

of Plymouth, 215 

Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I 

take them ; 



220 SELECTED POEMS 

Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither 
and perish, 

Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver/' 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his 
errand ; 

Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of 
the east-T\ind ; 221 

Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a 
meadow ; 

Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of 
Priscilla 

Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan 
anthem. 

Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the 
Psalmist, 225 

Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comfort- 
ing many. 

Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the 
maiden 

Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a 
snow-drift 

Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the raven- 
ous spindle. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANBISH 221 

While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel 

in its motion. 230 

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of 

Ainsworth, 
Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music to- 
gether, 
Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of 

a churchyard. 
Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the 

verses. 
Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old 

Puritan anthem, 235 

She, the Puritan girl, in the soHtude of the forest. 
Making the humble house and the modest apparel of 

homespun 
Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of 

her being ! 
Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold 

and relentless, 
Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and 

woe of his errand ; 240 

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that 

had vanished, 
All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion. 



222 SELECTED POEMS 

Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrow'ful faces. 

Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said 
it, 

^^ Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look 
backwards ; 245 

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of hfe 
to its fountains, 

Though it pass o^er the graves of the dead and the 
hearts of the li^dng, 

It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy endureth for- 
ever ! '' 

So he entered the house ; and the hum of the wheel 

and the singing 
Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on 

the threshold, 250 

Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of 

welcome. 
Saving, ^' I knew it was you, when I heard your step in 

the passage ; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and 

spinning.'' 
Awkward and dumb vdxh dehght, that a thought of him 

had been mingled 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 223 

Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of 
the maiden, 255 

Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for 
an answer, 

Finding no words for his thought. He remembered 
that day in the winter. 

After the first great snow, when he broke a path from 
the village. 

Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that en- 
cumbered the doorway. 

Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, 
and Priscilla 260 

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the 
fireside. 

Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in 
the snow-storm. 

Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he 
spoken; 

Now it was all too late; the golden moment had van- 
ished ! 

So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for 
an answer. 265 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the 
beautiful Spring-time ; 



224 SELECTED POEMS 

Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower that 
sailed on the morrow. 

" I have been thinking all day/' said gently the Puri- 
tan maiden, 

'^ Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge- 
rows of England, — 

They are in blossom now, and the comitry is all like a 
garden ; 270 

Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and 
the linnet, 

Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbours 

Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 

And, at the end of the street, the village church, with 
the ivy 

Climbing the old grey tower, and the quiet graves in 
the churchyard. 275 

Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my re- 
ligion ; 

Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in 
Old England. 

You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I 
almost 

Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and 
wretched/' 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 225 

Thereupon answered the youth : '' Indeed I do not 

condemn you ; 280 

Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this 

terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to 

lean on ; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer 

of marriage 
Made by a good man and true. Miles Standish the 

Captain of Plymouth ! '' 
Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer 

of letters, — 285 

Did not embelhsh the theme, nor array it in beautiful 

phrases. 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like 

a school-boy ; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it 

more bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan 

maiden 
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with 

wonder, 290 

Feehng his words like a blow, that stunned her and 

rendered her speechless ; 

Q 



226 SELECTED POEMS 

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous 

silence : 
" If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to 

wed me, 
Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble 

to woo me ? 
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth 

the winning ! " - 295 

Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the 

matter. 
Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain 

was busy, — 
Had no time for such things ; — such things ! the 

words grating harshly 
Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she 

made answer : 
'^ Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before 

he is married, 300 

Would he be hkely to find it, or make it, after the 

wedding ? 
That is the way with you men ; you don't understand 

us, you cannot. 
When you have made up your minds, after thinking 

of this one and that one, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 227 

Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with 
another. 

Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and 
sudden avowal, 305 

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, 
that a woman 

Does not respond at once to a love that she never sus- 
pected. 

Does not attain at a bound the height to which you 
have been climbing. 

This is not right nor just; for surely a woman's affec- 
tion 

Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the 
asking. 310 

When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but 
shows it. 

Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that 
he loved me. 

Even this Captain of yours — who knows ? — at last 
might have won me. 

Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can happen.'' 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of 
Priscilla, 315 



228 SELECTED POEMS 

Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, 
expanding ; 

Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles 
in Flanders, 

How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer 
affliction, 

How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Cap- 
tain of Plymouth ; 

He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree 
plainly 320 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lanca- 
shire, England, 

Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurs- 
ton de Standish ; 

Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded, 

Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock 
argent 

Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the 
blazon. 325 

He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature ; 

Though he was rough, he was kindly ; she knew how 
during the winter 

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as 
woman's ; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAND ISH 229 

Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and 
headstrong, 

Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable 
always, 330 

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little 
of stature ; 

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, coura- 
geous ; 

Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 

Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of 
Miles Standish ! 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and 

. eloquent language, 335 

Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 

Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning 

with laughter. 
Said, in a tremulous voice, '^ Why don't you speak for 
yourself, John ? '' 

IV 

JOHN ALDEN 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewil- 
dered, 



230 SELECTED POEMS 

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the 
sea-side ; 340 

Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to 
the east-wind. 

Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within 
him. 

Slowly, as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splen- 
dors, 

Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the 
Apostle, 

So with its cloudy walls of chrysoHte, jasper, and 
sapphire, 345 

Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 

Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured 
the city. 

^' Welcome, O wind of the East ! '^ he exclaimed in 

his wild exultation, 
" Welcome, wind of the East, from the caves of the 

misty Atlantic ! 
Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows 

of sea-grass, 350 

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottoes and gardens 

of ocean ! 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 231 

Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, 

and wrap me 
Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within 

me ! '' 

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning 

and tossing. 
Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the 

sea-shore. 355 

Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions 

contending ; 
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded 

and bleeding, 
Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings 

of duty ! 
'^ Is it my fault,'^ he said, '^ that the maiden has chosen 

between us ? 
Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the 

victor ? '' 360 

Then within him there thundered a voice, Hke the voice 

of the Prophet : 
'^ It hath displeased the Lord ! '' — and he thought of 

David^s transgression, 
Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front 

of the battle ! 



232 SELECTED POEMS 

Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self- 
condemnation, 

Overwhelmed him at once ; and he cried in the deepest 
contrition : 365 

" It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temptation 
of Satan ! '' 

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and 

beheld there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at 

anchor. 
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the 

morrow ; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle 

of cordage 370 

Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the 

sailors' '^ Ay, ay, Sir ! '^ 
Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of 

the twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared 

at the vessel, 
Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckon- 
ing shadow. 375 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 233 

^^ Yes, it is plain to me now/' he murmured; ^^ the 

hand of the Lord is 
Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage 

of error, 
Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters 

around me. 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts 

that pursue me. 
Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will 

abandon, 380 

Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart 

has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard 

in England, 
Close to my mother's side, and among the dust of my 

kindred ; 
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and 

dishonor ! 
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow 

chamber 385 

With me my secret shall he, like a buried jewel that 

glimmers 
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of 

silence and darkness, — 



234 SELECTED POEMS 

Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal here- 
after ! '' 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his 

strong resolution, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in 

the twilight, 390 

Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and 

sombre, 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the 

evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable 

Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of 

Caesar, 395 

Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant 

or Flanders. 
'^ Long have you been on your errand,^' he said with a 

cheery demeanor, 
Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the 

issue. 
" Not far off is the house, although the woods are be- 
tween us ; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 235 

But you have lingered so long, that while you were 
going and coming 400 

I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a 
city. 

Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has 
happened/' 

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous 

adventure 
From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened ; 
How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his 

courtship, 405 

Only smoothing a httle, and softening down her 

refusal. 
But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had 

spoken. 
Words so tender and cruel, '' Why don't you speak 

for yourself, John ? '' 
Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on 

the floor, till his armor 
Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of 

sinister omen. 410 

All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explo- 
sion. 



236 SELECTED POEMS 

E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction 

around it. 
Wildly he shouted, and loud : ^' John Alden ! you have 

betrayed me ! 
Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, 

defrauded, betrayed me ! 
One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart 

of Wat Tyler ; 4i5 

Who shall prevent me from running my own 'through 

the heart of a traitor ? 
Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to 

friendship ! 
You, who Hved under my roof, whom I cherished and 

loved as a brother ; 
You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, 

to whose keeping 
I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most 

sacred and secret, — 420 

You too, Brutus ! ah, woe to the name of friendship 

hereafter ! 
Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but 

henceforward 
Let there be nothing between us save war, and im- 
placable hatred ! '' 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 237 

So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about 
in the chamber, 

Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the 
veins on his temples. 425 

But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the. 
doorway, 

Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent im- 
portance. 

Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of 
Indians ! 

Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further 
question or parley. 

Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scab- 
bard of iron, 430 

Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, 
departed. 

Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scab- 
bard 

Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the 
distance. 

Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the 
darkness, 

Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with 
the insult, 435 



238 SELECTED POEMS 

Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands 

as in childhood, 
Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth 

in secret. 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful 

away to the council, 
Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his 

coming ; 
Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deport- 
ment, 440 
Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to 

heaven, 
Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of 

Plymouth. ° 
God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for 

this planting, 
Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation ; 
So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the 

people ! 445 

Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern 

and defiant, 
Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in 

aspect ; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 239 

While on the table before them was lying unopened a 
Bible, 

Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in 
Holland, 

And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake^ 
glittered, 450 

Filled, Hke a quiver, with arrows : a signal and chal- 
lenge of warfare. 

Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy 
tongues of defiance. 

This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard 
them debating 

What were an answer befitting the hostile message 
and menace. 

Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, ob- 
jecting; 455 

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the 
Elder, 

Judging it wise and well that some at least were con- 
verted, 

Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian 
behavior ! 

Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain 
of Plymouth, 



240 SELECTED POEMS 

Mattering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky 
with anger, 460 

'^ What ! do you mean to make war with milk and the 
water of roses ? 

Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer 
planted 

There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red 
devils ? 

Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 

Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth 
of the cannon ! '^ 465 

Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of 
Plymouth, 

Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent lan- 
guage: 

^' Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apos- 
tles; 

Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire 
they spake with ! '^ 

But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 470 
, Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued 
discoursing : 

'^ Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it per- 
taineth. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 241 

War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that is right- 
eous, 

Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the 
challenge ! '^ 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, 
contemptuous gesture, 475 

Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and 
bullets 

Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage. 

Saying, in thundering tones : ^^ Here, take it ! this is 
your answer ! '' 

Silentl}^ out of the room then gUded the glistening sav- 
age. 

Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself Uke a 
serpent, 480 

Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of 
the forest. 

V 

THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER 

Just in the grey of the dawn, as the mists uprose from 
the meadows, 



242 SELECTED POEMS 

There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village 
of Plymouth ; 

Clanging and chcking of arms, and the order impera- 
tive, '' Forward ! '' 

Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then 
silence. 485 

Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the 
village. 

Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous 
army, 

Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the 
white men, 

Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the 
savage. 

Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of 
King David ; 490 

Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the 
Bible, — 

Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and 
Philistines. 

Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morn- 
ing; 

Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, ad- 
vancing, 

Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 495 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 243 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the 
village of Plymouth 

Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold 
labors. 

Sweet was the air and soft; and slowly the smoke 
from the chimneys 

Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily east- 
ward ; 

Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked 
of the weather, 500 

Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair 
for the Mayflower ; 

Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers 
that menaced, 

He being gone, the town, and what should be done in 
his absence. 

Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 

Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the 
household. 505 

Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced 
at his coming ; 

Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the moun- 
tains ; 

Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, 



244 SELECTED POEMS 

Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of 
the winter. 

Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping 
her canvas, 510 

Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of 
the sailors. 

Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean. 

Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon rang 

Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the 
echoes 

Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of de- 
parture ! 515 

Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the 
people ! 

Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from 
the Bible, 

Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent 
entreaty ! 

Then from the houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims 
of Plymouth, 

Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the 
sea-shore, 520 

Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the May- 
flower, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 245 

Homeward bound o^er the sea, and leaving them here 
in the desert. 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had 

lain without slumber, 
Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his 

fever. 
He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from 

the council, 525 

Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and 

murmur. 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it 

sounded Uke swearing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment 

in silence ; 
Then he had turned away, and said : '^ I will not awake 

him; 
Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of more 

talking ! '' 530 

Then he extinguished the hght, and threw himself down 

on his pallet. 
Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the 

morning, — 
Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his cam- 
paigns in Flanders, — 



246 SELECTED POEMS 

Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. 

But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden be- 
held him 535 

Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his 
armor, 

Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 

Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the 
chamber. 

Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to 
embrace him, 

Often his Ups had essayed to speak, imploring for par- 
don, 540 

All the old friendship came back with its tender and 
grateful emotions ; 

But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within 
him, — 

Pride, and the sense of his ^vrong, and the burning fire 
of the insult. 

So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake 
not. 

Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he 
spake not ! 545 

Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people 
were saying. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 247. 

Joined in the talk at the door, wth Stephen and Richard 

and Gilbert, 
Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of 

Scripture. 
And, vnili the others, in haste went hurrying down to 

the sea-shore, 
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their 

feet as a doorstep 550 

Into a world unknown — the corner -stone of a nation ! 

There with his boat was the Master, already a Uttle 
impatient 

Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to 
the eastward. 

Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean 
about him. 

Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters 
and parcels 555 

Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled to- 
gether 

Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewil- 
dered. 

Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on 
the gunwale. 



248 SELECTED POEMS 

One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with 
sailors, 

Seated erect on the thwarts, already and eager for start- 
ing. 560 

He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his 
anguish. 

Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is 
or canvas, 

Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise 
and pursue him. 

But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of 
Priscilla 

Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that 
was passing. 665 

Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his inten- 
tion. 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and 
patient, 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its 
purpose. 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is 
destruction. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious 
instincts ! 570 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 249 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are mo- 
ments, 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall 
adamantine ! 

" Here I remain ! ^^ he exclaimed, as he looked at the 
heavens above him. 

Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist 
and the madness. 

Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering 
headlong. 575 

'' Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether 
above me, 

Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over 
the ocean. 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost- 
hke. 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for 
protection. 

Float, hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! 

Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I 
heed not 581 

Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 

There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so whole- 
some. 



250 SELECTED POEMS 

As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by 
her footsteps. 

Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible pres- 
ence 585 

Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her 
weakness ; 

Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock 
at the landing. 

So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the 
leaving ! '' 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and 
important. 

Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and 
the weather, 590 

Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded 
around him 

Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful re- 
membrance. 

Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping 
a tiller. 

Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his 
vessel, 

Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, 595 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 251 

Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and 

sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but 

Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the 

Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in* the 

Ma^^flower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this 

ploughing ! 600 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the 
sailors 

Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous 
anchor. 

Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west- 
wind. 

Blowing steady and strong ; and the Mayflower sailed 
from the harbor, 

Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the 
southward 605 

Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First En- 
counter, 

Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open 
Atlantic, 



252 SELECTED POEMS 

Borne on the sand of the sea, and the sweUing hearts of 
the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the 

vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and 

human; 6io 

Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision 

prophetic, 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plym- 
outh 
Said, ^^ Let us pray ! '' and they prayed, and thanked 

the Lord and took courage. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, 

and above them 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, 

and their kindred 615 

Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the 

prayer that they uttered. 

Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the 
ocean 

Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a grave- 
yard; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 253 

Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 

Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an 

Indian, 620 

Watching them from the hill : but while they spake with 

each other. 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, '^ Look ! ^' 

he had vanished. 
So they returned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a 

little. 
Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of 

the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash 

of the sunshine, 625 

Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 

VI 

PRISCILLA 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of 

the ocean. 
Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla ; 
And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like 

the loadstone. 



254 SELECTED POEMS 

WhatsoQver it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, 630 
Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing be- 
side him. 

^^ Are you so much offended, you will not speak to 

me? ^^ said she. 
'^ Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you 

were pleading 
Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and 

wayward. 
Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of 

decorum ? 635 

Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, 

for saying 
What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never 

unsay it ; 
For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full 

of emotion. 
That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a 

pebble 
Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its se- 
cret, 640 
Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered 

together. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 255 

Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of 

Miles Standish, 
Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into 

virtues, 
Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting 

in Flanders, 
As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a 

woman, 645 

Quitq overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your 

hero. 
Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. 
You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friend- 
ship between us, 
Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken ! '' 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend 

of Miles Standish : 650 

'^ I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was 

angry. 
Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my 

keeping/' 
''No! '^ interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and 

decisive ; 
'' No ; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly 

and freely. 



256 SELECTED POEMS 

It was wrong, I acknowledge; for it is the fate of a 

woman 655 

Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that 

is speechless, 
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its 

silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers 
Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, imseen, 

and unfruitful, 660 

Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profit- 
less murmurs/' 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the 

lover of women : 
'' Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me 

always 
More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden 

of Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havi- 

lah* flowing, 665 

Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the 

garden ! '' 
" Ah, by these words, I can see,'' again interrupted the 

maiden, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 257 

'^ How very little you prize me, or care for what I am 

saying. 
When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with 

secret misgiving, 
Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and 

kindness, 670 

Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and 

direct and in earnest, 
Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with 

flattering phrases. 
This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that 

is in you ; 
For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is 

noble, 
Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 675 
Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the 

more keenly 
If you say aught that implies I am only as one among 

many. 
If you make use of those common and complimentary 

phrases 
Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with 

women, 679 

But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting. '^ 



258 SELECTED POEMS 

Mute and amazed was Alden ; and listened and looked 
at Priscilla, 

Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine 
in her beauty. 

He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of 
another, 

Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain 
for an answer. 

So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined 

What was at work in his heart, that made him so awk- 
ward and speechless. 686 

" Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, 
and in all things 

Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred profes- 
sions of friendship. 

It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it : 

I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with 
you always. 690 

So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to 
hear you 

Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Cap- 
tain Miles Standish. 

For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your 
friendship 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 259 

Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero 

you think him/' 
Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly 

grasped it, 695 

Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and 

bleeding so sorely, 
Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a 

voice full of feeling : 
'^ Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who offer you 

friendship 
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and 

dearest ! '' 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the 
Mayflower 700 

Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon. 

Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefi- 
nite feeling, 

That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the 
desert. 

But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and 
smile of the sunshine, 

Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very 
archly : 705 



260 SELECTED POEMS 

^' Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of 

the Indians, 
Where he is happier far than he would be commanding 

a household, 
You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened 

between you. 
When you returned last night, and said how imgrateful 

you found me/^ 
Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole 

of the story, — 710 

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles 

Standish. 
Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing 

and earnest, 
^^ He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a 

moment ! '^ 
But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how much he 

had suffered, — 
How he had even determined to sail that day in the 

Mayflower, 715 

And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers 

that threatened, — 
All her manner was changed, and she said with a falter- 
ing accent, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 261 

'' Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been 
to me always ! '^ 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem 
journeys, 

Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly back- 
ward, 720 

Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of 
contrition ; 

Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advanc- 
ing, 

Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his 
longings. 

Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorse- 
ful misgivings. 

VII 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching 
steadily northward, 725 

Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend 
of the sea-shore, 

All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 



262 SELECTED POEMS 

Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odour 

of powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of 

the forest. 
Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his 

discomfort; 730 

He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a 

maiden. 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom 

most he had trusted ! 
Ah ! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and 

chafed in his armor ! 

'^ I alone am to blame,'' he muttered, '^ for mine was 

the folly. 735 

What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and grey in 

the harness. 
Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing 

of maidens ? 
'Twas but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish like so 

many others ! 
What I thought was a flower is only a weed, and is 

worthless ; 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 263 

Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and 
henceforward 740 

Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of 
dangers/' 

Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and dis- 
comfort, 

While he was marching by day or lying at night in the 
forest. 

Looking up at the trees and the constellations beyond 
them. 

After a three days' march he came to an Indian en- 
campment 745 

Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and 
the forest ;^ 

Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid with 
war-paint, 

Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together ; 

Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of 
the white men, 

Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and 
musket, 750 

Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among 
them advancing,^ 



264 SELECTED POEMS 

Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a 

present ; 
Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there 

was hatred. 
Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic in 

stature, 
Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of 

Bashan ; 755 

One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wat- 

tawamat. 
Round their necks were suspended their knives in scab- 
bards of wampum. 
Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a 

needle. 
Other arms had they none, for they wel'e cunning and 

crafty. 
'^ Welcome, English ! '' they said, — these words they 

had learned from the traders 760 

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer 

for peltries. 
Then in their native tongue they began to parley with 

Standish, 
Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of 

the white man, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 265 

Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets 

and powder, 
Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the 

plague, in his cellars, 765 

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red 

man ! 
But when Standish refused, and said he would give them 

the Bible, 
Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and 

to bluster. 
Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of 

the other. 
And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to 

the Captain : 770 

'^ Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the 

Captain, 
Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave 

Wattawamat 
Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a 

woman. 
But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven 

by lightning, 
Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about 

him, 775 



266 SELECTED POEMS 

Shouting, ' Who is there here to fight with the brave 

Wattawamat ? ^ '^ 
Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade 

on his left hand. 
Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the 

handle, 
Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister 

meaning : 
^^ I have another at home, with the face of a man on the 

handle ; 780 

By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty 

of children ! '' 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting 

Miles Standish ; 
While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung 

at his bosom. 
Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, 

as he muttered, 
'^ By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ha ! but 

shall speak not ! 785 

This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to 

destroy us ! 
He is a little man ; let him go and work with the 

women ! " 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 267 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures 

of Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the 

forest, 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their 

bow-strings, 790 

Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of 

their ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated 

them smoothly ; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days 

of the fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt 

and the insult, 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurs- 
ton de Standish, 795 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins 

of his temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his 

knife from its scabbard. 
Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the 

savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness 

upon it. 



268 SELECTED POEMS 

Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound 

of the war-whoop, 800 

And, Uke a flurry of snow on the whistUng wind of 

December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery 

arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud 

came the lightning. 
Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran 

before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and 

in thicket, 805 

Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave 

Wattawamat, 
Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a 

bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands 

clutching the greensward. 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of 

his fathers. 

There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors 
lay, and above them, sio 

Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of 
the white man. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 269 

Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain 

of Plymouth : 
'^ Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his 

strength and his stature, — 
Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man ; 

but I see now 
Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before 

you ! '' 815 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the 

stalwart Miles Standish. 
When the tidings thereof were brought to the village 

of Plymouth, 
And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wat- 

tawamat 
Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was 

a church and a fortress, 
All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and 

took courage 820 

Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of 

terror. 
Thanking God in her heart that she had not married 

Miles Standish ; 
Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his 

battles, 



270 SELECTED POEMS 

He should lay claim to her hand, .as the prize and re- 
ward of his valor. 



VIII 

THE SPINNING WHEEL 

Month after month passed away, and in autumn the 

ships of the merchants 825 

Came with kindred and friends, Tvdth cattle and corn 

for the Pilgrims. 
All in the village was peace; the men were intent on 

their labors. 
Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and 

with merestead, 
Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass 

in the meadows. 
Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in 

the forest. 830 

All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumor 

of warfare 
Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. 
Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land 

with his forces. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 271 

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the aHen armies, 

Till his name had become a sound of fear to the na- 
tions. 835 

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse 
and contrition 

Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate out- 
break, 

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a 
river, 

Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and 

brackish. 

» 

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new 
habitation, 840 

Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs 
of the forest. 

Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered 
with rushes ; 

Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were 
of paper. 

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were ex- 
cluded. 

There too he dug a well, and around it planted an 
orchard : 845 



272 SELECTED POEMS 

Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well 

and the orchard. 
Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure 

from annoyance, 
Raghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Alden's 

allotment 
In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the nighttime 
Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet 

pennyroyal. 850 

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet 

would the dreamer 
Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the 

house of Priscilla, 
Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of 

fancy, 
Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance 

of friendship. 
Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls 

of his dwelling ; 855 

Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of 

his garden ; 
Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on 

Sunday 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 273 

Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in 

the Proverbs, — 
How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her 

always, 
How all the days of her life she will do him good, and 

not evil, 860 

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh 

with gladness, 
How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth 

the distaff, 
How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her 

household, 
Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet 

cloth of her weaving ! 

So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the 
Autumn, 866 

Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexter- 
ous fingers, 

As if the thread she was spinning were that of his hfe 
and his fortune, 

After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of 
the spindle. 

^' Truly, Priscilla,'^ he said, ^' when I see you spinning 
and spinning, 

T 



274 SELECTED POEMS 

Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of 

others, 870 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in 

a moment ; 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful 

Spinner/' 
Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and 

swifter ; the spindle 
Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short 

in her fingers ; 
While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, 

continued : 875 

^' You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen 

of Helvetia ; 
She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of 

Southampton, 
Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow 

and mountain. 
Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to 

her saddle. 
She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed 

into a proverb. 880 

So shajl it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel 

shall no longer 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 275 

Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers 

with music. 
Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was 

in their childhood, 
Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla 

the spinner ! ^' 
Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan 

maiden, 885 

Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose 

praise was the sweetest, 
Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her 

spinning. 
Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering 

phrases of Alden : 
^' Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for 

housewives. 
Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of 

husbands. 890 

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready 

for knitting ; 
Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have 

changed and the manners, 
Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times 

of John Alden ! '' 



276 SELECTED POEMS 

Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands 

she adjusted, 
He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended 

before him, 895 

She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread 

from his fingers. 
Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, 
Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled 

expertly 
Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could 

she help it ? — 
Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his 

body. 900 

Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messen- 
ger entered, 

Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the 
village. 

Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! — an Indian had 
brought them the tidings, — 

Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of 
the battle, 

Into an-ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his 
forces ; 905 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 277 

All the town would be burned, and all the people be 

murdered ! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts 

of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-hke stood Priscilla, her face looking 

backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in 

horror ; 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the ar- 
row 910 
Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, 

and had sundered 
Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a 

captive, 
Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of 

his freedom, 
Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he 

was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of 

Priscilla, 915 

Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, 

and exclaiming : 
'^ Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put 

them asunder ! '' 



278 SELECTED POEMS 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate 
sources, 

Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, 
and pursuing 

Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and 
nearer, 920 

Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the 
forest ; 

So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 

Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flow- 
ing asunder. 

Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and 
nearer, 924 

Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 

IX 

THE WEDDING-DAY 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of 
purple and scarlet. 

Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments 
resplendent, 

Hohness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his fore- 
head, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 279 

Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pome- 
granates. 

Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor 
beneath him 930 

Gleamed hke a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet 
was a laver ! 

This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puri- 
tan maiden. 

Friends were assembled together ; the Elder and 
Magistrate also 

Graced the scene with their presence, and stood hke 
the Law and the Gospel, 

One with the sanction of earth and one with the bless- 
ing of heaven. 935 

Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and 
of Boaz. 

Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words 
of betrothal, 

Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magis- 
trate's presence, 

After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of 
Holland. 

Fervently then and devoutly, the excellent Elder of 
Plymouth » 940 



280 SELECTED POEMS 

Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded 

that day in affection, 
Speaking of Hfe and of death, and imploring Divine 

benedictions. 

Lo ! when the service was ended, a form appeared 

on the threshold, 
Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure ! 
Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange 

apparition ? 945 

Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his 

shoulder ? 
Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral il- 
lusion? 
Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid 

the betrothal ? 
Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, un- 

welcomed ; 
Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an 

expression 950 

Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart 

hidden beneath them, 
As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain 

cloud 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 281 

Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its 

brightness. 
Once it had Ufted its hand, and moved its hps, but 

was silent, 
As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting inten- 
tion. 955 
But when were ended the troth and the prayer and 

the last benediction. 
Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with 

amazement 
Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain 

of Plymouth ! 
Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, 

• ^' Forgive me ! 
I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished 

the feeling ; 960 

I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it 

is ended. 
Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of 

Hugh Standish, 
Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for 

error. 
Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of 

John Alden.^' 



282 SELECTED POEMS 

Thereupon answered the bridegroom : '^ Let all be 
forgotten between us, — 965 

All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow 
older and dearer ! " 

Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Pris- 
cilla. 

Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry 
in England, 

Something of camp and of court, of iovm and of country, 
commingled. 

Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding 
her husband. 970 

Then he said with a smile : '^ I should have remem- 
bered the adage, — 

If 3^ou will be well served, you must serve yourself; 
and moreover, 

No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of 
Christmas ! '' 

Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet 

their rejoicing, 
Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their 

Captain, 975 

Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they gathered 

and crowded about him, 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 283 

Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and 
of bridegroom, 

Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupt- 
ing the other. 

Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpow- 
ered and bewildered, 

He had rather by far break into an Indian encamp- 
ment, 980 

Than come again to a wedding to which he had not 
been invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood 
with the bride at the doorway. 

Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beauti- 
ful morning. 

Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in 
the sunshine, 

Lay extended before them the land of toil and priva- 
tion ; 985 

There were the graves of the dead, and the barren 
waste of the sea-shore. 

There the famihar fields, the groves of pine, and the 
meadows ; 

But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden 
of Eden, 



284 SELECTED POEMS 

Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the 
sound of the ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and 

stir of departure, 990 

Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient 

of longer delaying. 
Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was 

left uncompleted. 
Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of 

wonder, 
Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud 

of Priscilla, 
Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of 

its master, 995 

Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils. 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for 

a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and 

heat of the noonday ; 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like 

a peasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the 

others, looo 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANHISH 285 

Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand 

of her husband, 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
'^ Nothing is wanting now,'^ he said with a smile, '^ but 

the distaff ; 
Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful 

Bertha ! '' 

Onward the bridal procession now moved to their 
new habitation, 1005 

Happy husband and wife,° and friends conversing to- 
gether. 

Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the 
ford in the forest. 

Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of 
love through its bosom. 

Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure 
abysses. 

Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring 
his splendors, loio 

Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above 
them suspended, 

Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the 
pine and the fir tree. 



286 SELECTED POEMS 

Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley 
of Eshcol. 

Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral 
ages, 

Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalhng Re- 
becca and Isaac, 1015 

Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 

Love immortal and young in the endless succession of 
lovers. 

So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the 
bridal procession. 



SNOW-BOUND 

A WINTER IDYL 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES 

This Poem is Dedicated by the Author 

" As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good 
Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the 
Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and 
as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of 
Wood doth the same." — Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, Book I., 
eh. V. 

" Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the house-mates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm." — Emerson. 

The sun that brief December day 
Rose cheerless over hills of grey, 

287 



288 SELECTED POEMS 

And, darkly circled, gave at noon 

A sadder light than waning moon. 

Slow tracing down the thickening sky 5 

Its mute and ominous prophecy, 

A portent seeming less than threat, 

It sank from sight before it set. 

A chill no coat, however stout, 

Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, 10 

A hard, dull bitterness of cold. 

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race 

Of life-blood in the sharpened face. 
The coming of the snow-storm told. 
The wind blew east ; we heard the roar 15 

Of Ocean on his wintry shore. 
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 
Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — 

Brought in the wood from out of doors, 20 

Littered the stalls, and from the mows 

Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows : 

Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; 

And, sharply clashing horn on horn. 

Impatient down the stanchion rows 25 



SNOW-BOUND 289 

The cattle shake their walnut bows ; 

While, peering from his early perch 

Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, 

The cock his crested helmet bent 

And down his querulous challenge sent. 30 

Un warmed by any sunset hght 

The grey day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 35 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : 

And ere the early bed-time came 

The white drift piled the window-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 40 

So all night long the storm roared on : 

The morning broke without a sun ; 

In tiny spherule traced with lines 

Of Nature's geometric signs, 

In starry flake, and pellicle, 45 

All day the hoary meteor fell ; 

And, when the second morning shone. 

We looked upon a world unknown. 

On nothing we could call our own. 



290 SELECTED POEMS 

Around the glistening wonder bent 50 

The blue walls of the firmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 55 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 

Or garden wall, or belt of wood ; 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 60 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof, 

In its slant splendor seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle.^ 65 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 

Our father wasted : ^^ Boys, a path ! " 

Well pleased (for when did farmer boy 

Count such a summons less than joy?) 

Our buskins on our feet we drew ; 70 

With mittened hands, and caps drawn low. 
To guard our necks and ears from snow, 



SNOW-BOUND 291 

We cut the solid whiteness through. 

And, where the drift was deepest, made 

A tunnel walled and overlaid 75 

With dazzKng crystal : we had read 

Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave. 

And to our own his name we gave. 

With many a wish the luck were ours 

To test his lamp's supernal powers. 80 

We reached the barn with merry din. 

And roused the prisoned brutes within. 

The old horse thrust his long head out, 

And grave with wonder gazed about ; 

The cock his lusty greeting said, 85 

And forth his speckled harem led ; 

The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked. 

And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 

The horned patriarch of the sheep, 

Like Egypt's Amun° roused from sleep, 90 

Shook his sage head with gesture mute. 

And emphasized with stamp of foot. 

All day the gusty north-wind bore 

The loosening drift its breath before ; 

Low circling round its southern zone, 95 



292 SELECTED POEMS 

The sun through dazzUng snow-mist shone. 

No church-bell lent its Christian tone 

To the savage air, no social smoke 

Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. 

A solitude made more intense lOO 

By dreary-voiced elements, 

The shrieking of the mindless wind. 

The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, 

And on the grass the unmeaning beat 

Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 105 

Beyond the circle of our hearth 

No welcome sound of toil or mirth 

Unbound the spell, and testified 

Of human life and thought outside. 

We minded that the sharpest ear no 

The buried brooklet could not hear, 

The music of whose liquid lip 

Had been to us companionship. 

And, in our lonely life, had grown 

To have an almost human tone. 115 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 



SNOW-BOUND 293 

From sight beneath the smothering bank, 

We piled, with care, our nightly stack 120 

Of wood against the chimney-back, — 

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 

And on its top the stout back-stick ; 

The knotty forestick laid apart, 

And filled between with curious art 125 

The ragged brush ; then, hovering near. 

We watched the first red blaze appear. 

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam. 

Until the old, rude-furnished room 130 

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ; 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkling drift became, 

And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 135 

The crane and pendent trammels showed. 

The Turks^ heads on the andirons glowed ; 

While childish fancy, prompt to tell 

The meaning of the miracle. 

Whispered the old rhyme : '^ Under the tree, 140 

When fire outdoors hums merrily, 

There the witches are making tea J' 



294 SELECTED POEMS 

The moon above the eastern wood 

Shone at its full : the hill-range stood 

Transfigured in the silver flood, 145 

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, 

Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 

Took shadow, or the sombre green 

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 

Against the whiteness at their back. 150 

For such a world and such a night 

IMost fitting that unwarming light. 

Which only seemed where'er it fell 

To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 155 

We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 

Content to let the north-wind roar 

In baflSed rage at pane and door, 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat ; 160 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed ; 

The house-dog on his paws outspread, 165 



SNOW-BOUND 295 

Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 

The cat^s dark silhouette on the wall 

A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 

And, for the winter fireside meet, 

Between the andirons' straddling feet, 170 

The mug of cider simmered slow, 

The apples sputtered in a row. 

And, close at hand, the basket stood 

With nuts from brown October's wood. 

What matter how the night behaved ? 175 

What matter how the north-wind raved ? 

Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 

Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 

O Time and Change ! — with hair as grey 

As was my sire's that winter day, 180 

How strange it seems, with so much gone 

Of life and love, to still live on ! 

Ah, brother ! only I and thou 

Are left of all that circle now, — 

The dear home faces whereupon 185 

That fitful firelight paled and shone. 

Henceforward, Hsten as we will. 

The voices of that hearth are still ; 



296 SELECTED POEMS 

Look where we may, the wide earth o'er, 

Those Ughted faces smile no more. 190 

We tread the paths their feet have worn, 

We sit beneath their orchard trees. 

We hear, hke them, the hum of bees, 
And rustle of the bladed corn ; 
We turn the pages that they read, 195 

Their written words we linger o^er, 
But in the sun they cast no shade. 
No voice is heard, no sign is made. 

No step is on the conscious floor ! 
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust 200 

(Since He who knows our need is just). 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 
Alas for him who never sees 
The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 205 

Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play ! 
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 

The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 210 

And Love can never lose its own ! 



SNOW-BOUND 297 

We sped the time with stories old, 

Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told. 

Or stammered from our school-book lore 

^' The Chief of Gambia's^ golden shore.'^ 215 

How often since, when all the land 

Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand. 

As if a trumpet called, Fve heard 

Dame Mercy Warren's rousing word : 

" Does not the voice of reason cry, 220 

Claim the first right which Nature gave, 
From the red scourge of bondage fly, 

Nor deign to live a burdened slave ! '' 
Our father rode again his ride 

On Memphremagog's wooded side ; 225 

Sat down again to moose and samp 
In trapper's hut and Indian camp ; 
Lived o'er the old idylHc ease 
Beneath St. Frangois' hemlock trees ; 
Again for him the moonhght shone 230 

On Norman cap and bodiced zone ; 
Again he heard the violin play 
Which led the village dance away, 
And mingled in its merry whirl 
The grandam and the laughing girl. 235 



298 SELECTED POEMS 

Or, nearer home, our steps he led 
Where SaHsbury^s level marshes spread 

Mile-wide as flies the laden bee ; 
Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along 240 

The low green prairies of the sea. 
We shared the fishing off Boar\s Head, 

And round the rocky Isles of Shoals 

The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals ; 
The chowder on the sand-beach made, 245 

Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, 
With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. 
We heard the tales of witchcraft old, 
And dream and sign and marvel told 
To sleepy listeners as they lay 250 

Stretched idly on the salted hay, 
Adrift along the winding shores, 
When favoring breezes deigned to blow 
The square sail of the gundelow. 
And idle lay the useless oars. 255 

Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, 
Told how the Indian hordes came down 



SNOW-BOUND 299 

At midnight on Cochecho° town, 

And how her own great-uncle bore 260 

His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 

Recalling, in her fitting phrase. 

So rich and picturesque and free, * 

(The common unrhymed poetry 

Of simple life and country ways), 265 

The story of her early days, — 

She made us welcome to her home ; 

Old hearths grew wide to give us room ; 

We stole with her a frightened look 

At the grey wizard's conjuring-book, 270 

The fame whereof went far and wide 

Through all the simple country-side ; 

We heard the hawks at twilight play. 

The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 

The loon's weird laughter far away ; 275 

We fished her little trout-brook, knew 

What flowers in wood and meadow grew. 

What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 

She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down. 

Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 280 

The ducks' black squadron anchored lay. 

And heard the wild-geese calhng loud 



300 SELECTED POEMS 

Beneath the grey November cloud. 

Then, haply, with a look more grave, 

And soberer tone, some tale she gave 285 

From painful SeweFs ancient tome,° 

Beloved in every Quaker home, 

Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, 

Or Chalkley's Journal, ° old and quaint, — 

Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! — 290 

Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, 

And water-butt and bread-cask failed. 

And cruel, hungry eyes pursued 

His portly presence mad for food. 

With dark hints muttered under breath 295 

Of casting lots for life or death, 

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, 

To be himself the sacrifice. 

Then, suddenly, as if to save 

The good man from his living grave, 300 

A ripple on the water grew, 

A school of porpoise dashed in view. 

^^ Take, eat,'' he said, ^^ and be content; 

These fishes in my stead are sent 

By Him who gave the tangled ram° 305 

To spare the child of Abraham.'' 



SNOW-BOUND 301 

Our uncle, innocent of books, 

Was rich in lore of fields and brooks. 

The ancient teachers never dumb 

Of Nature^s unhoused lyceum. 310 

In moons and tides and weather wise, 

He read the clouds as prophecies, 

And foul or fair could well divine. 

By many an occult hint and sign, 

Holding the cunning- warded keys 315 

To all the woodcraft mysteries ; 

Himself to Nature^s heart so near 

That all her voices in his ear 

Of beast or bird had meanings clear, 

Like Apollonius° of old, 320 

Who knew the tales the sparrows told. 

Or Hermes, who interpreted 

What the sage cranes of Nilus said ; 

A simple, guileless, childlike man. 

Content to live where life began ; 325 

Strong only on his native grounds. 

The httle world of sights and sounds 

Whose girdle was the parish bounds. 

Whereof his fondly partial pride 

The common features magnified, 330 



302 SELECTED POEMS 

As Surrey hills to mountains grew 

In White of Selborne's° loving view, — 

He told how teal and loon he shot, 

And how the eagle's eggs he got, 

The feats on pond and river done, 335 

The prodigies of rod and gun ; 

Till, warming with the tales he told, 

Forgotten was the outside cold. 

The bitter wind unheeded blew : 

From ripening corn the pigeons flew, 340 

The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink 

Went fishing down the river-brink. 

In fields with bean or clover gay. 

The woodchuck, like a hermit grey. 

Peered from the doorway of his cell ; 345 

The muskrat plied the mason's trade. 

And tier by tier his mud-walls laid ; 

And from the shagbark overhead 

The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. 

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer 350 

And voice in dreams I see and hear, — 
The sweetest woman ever Fate 
Perverse denied a household mate, 



SNOW-BOUND 303 

Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 

Found peace in lovers unselfishness, 355 

And welcome wheresoever she went, 

A calm and gracious element. 

Whose presence seemed the sweet income 

And womanly atmosphere of home, — 

Called up her girlhood memories, 360 

The huskings and the apple-bees, 

The sleigh-rides and the summer sails. 

Weaving through all the poor details 

And homespun warp of circumstance 

A golden woof-thread of romance. 365 

For well she kept her genial mood 

And simple faith of maidenhood ; 

Before her still a cloud-land lay. 

The mirage loomed across her way ; 

The morning dew, that dries so soon 370 

With others, glistened at her noon ; 

Through years of toil and soil and care, 

From glossy tress to thin grey hair. 

All unprofaned she held apart 

The virgin fancies of the heart. 375 

Be shame to him of woman born 

Who hath for such but thought of scorn. 



304 SELECTED POEMS 

There, too, our elder sister plied 

Her evening task the stand beside ; 

A full, rich nature, free to trust, 380 

Truthful and almost sternly just, 

Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act. 

And make her generous thought a fact, 

Keeping with many a light disguise 

The secret of self-sacrifice. 385 

heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 

That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest, 

Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! 

How many a poor one's blessing went 

With thee beneath the low green tent 390 

Whose curtain never outward swings ! 
As one who held herself a part 
Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean. 
Upon the motley-braided mat 395 

Our youngest and our dearest sat, 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 

Now bathed within the fadeless green"^ 
And holy peace of Paradise. 
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 

Or from the shade of saintly palms, 



SNOW-BOUND 306 

Or silver reach of river calms, 
Do those large eyes behold me still ? 
With me one little year ago : — 
The chill weight of the winter snow 405 

For months upon her grave has lain ; 
And now, when summer south-winds blow 

And brier and harebell bloom again, 
I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
I see the violet-sprinkled sod 410 

Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak — 
The hillside flowers she loved to seek — 
Yet following me where'er I went 
With dark eyes full of love's content. 
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 415 

The air with sweetness ; all the hills 
Stretch green to June's unclouded sky ; 
But still I wait with ear and eye 
For something gone which should be nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 420 

In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 
And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee, 

Am I not richer than of old ? 
Safe in thy immortality. 

What change can reach the wealth I hold ? 425 



306 SELECTED POEMS 

What chance can mar the pearl and gold 
Thy love hath left in trust with me ? . 
And while in life's late afternoon, 

Where cool, and long the shadows grow, 
I walk to meet the night that soon 430 

Shall shape and shadow overflow, 
I cannot feel that thou art far. 
Since near at need the angels are ; 
And when the sunset gates unbar. 

Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 435 

And, white against the evening star. 

The welcome of thy beckoning hand ? 

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule. 

The master of the district school 

Held at the fire his favored place ; 440 

Its warm glow lit a laughing face 

Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 

The uncertain prophecy of beard. 

He teased the mitten-blinded cat. 

Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, 445 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 

In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 

Born the wild Northern hills among. 



SNOW-BOUND 307 

From whence his yeoman father wrung 

By patient toil subsistence scant, 450 

Not competence and yet not want, 

He early gained the power to pay 

His cheerful, self-rehant way ; 

Could doif at ease his scholar's gown 

To peddle wares from town to town ; 455 

Or through the long vacation's reach 

In lonely lowland districts teach, 

Where all the droll experience found 

At stranger hearths in boarding round. 

The moonlit skater's keen dehght, 460 

The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, 

The rustic party, with its rough 

Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff. 

And whirhng plate, and forfeits paid, 

His winter task a pastime made. 465 

Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 

He tuned his merry violin. 

Or played the athlete in the barn. 

Or held the good dame's winding yarn. 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 470 

Of classic legends rare and old. 

Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 



308 SELECTED POEMS 

Had all the commonplace of home, 

And little seemed at best the odds 

'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods ; 475 

Where Pindus-born Araxes° took 

The guise of any grist-mill brook, 

And dread Olympus at his will 

Became a huckleberry hill. 

A careless boy that night he seemed ; 480 

But at his desk he had the look 
And air of one who wisely schemed, 

And hostage from the future took 

In trained thought and lore of book. 
Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he 485 

Shall Freedom's young apostles be. 
Who, following in War's bloody trail, 
Shall every lingering wrong assail ; 
All chains from limb and spirit strike. 
Uplift the black and white alike ; 490 

Scatter before their swift advance 
The darkness and the ignorance. 
The pride, the lust, the squahd sloth, 
Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 
Made murder pastime, and the hell 495 



SNOW-BOUND 309 

Of prison-torture possible ; 

The cruel lie of caste refute, 

Old forms remould, and substitute 

For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, 

For bhnd routine, wise-handed skill ; 500 

A school-house plant on every hill. 

Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 

The quick wires of intelligence ; 

Till North and South together brought 

Shall own the same electric thought, 505 

In peace a common flag salute. 

And, side by side in labor's free 

And unresentful rivalry, 

Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 

Another guest° that winter night 610 

Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. 

Unmarked by time, and yet not young, 

The honeyed music of her tongue 

And words of meekness scarcely told 

A nature passionate and bold, 616 

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, 

Its milder features dwarfed beside 

Her unbent will's majestic pride. 



310 SELECTED POEMS 

She sat among us, at the best 

A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, 520 

Rebuking with her cultured phrase 

Our homeliness of words and ways. 

A certain pard-like, treacherous grace 

Swayed the hthe limbs and drooped the lash, 
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash ; 525 

And under low brows, black with night. 
Rayed out at times a dangerous light ; 

The sharp heat-hghtnings of her face 

Presaging ill to him whom Fate 

Condemned to share her love or hate. 530 

A woman tropical, intense 

In thought and act, in soul and sense. 

She blended in a like degree 

The vixen and the devotee, 

Revealing with each freak or feint 535 

The temper of Petruchio's Kate,° 

The raptures of Siena's saint. ° 

Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 

Had facile power to form a fist ; 

The warm, dark languish of her eyes 540 

Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 

Brows saintly calm and lips devout 



SNOW-BOUND 311 

Knew every change of scowl and pout ; 

And the sweet voice had notes more high 

And shrill for social battle-cry. 545 

Since then what old cathedral town 

Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, 

What convent-gate has held its lock 

Against the challenge of her knock ! 

Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, 550 

Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, 

Grey olive slopes of hills that hem 

Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, 

Or starthng on her desert throne 

The crazy Queen of Lebanon^ 555 

With claims fantastic as her own. 

Her tireless feet have held their way ; 

And still, unrestful, bowed, and grey. 

She watches under Eastern skies. 

With hope each day renewed and fresh, 560 

The Lord's quick coming in the flesh. 
Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! 

Where'er her troubled path may be. 

The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! 
The outward wayward Ufe we see, 565 



312 SELECTED POEMS 

The hidden springs we may not know. 
Nor it is given us to discern 

What threads the fatal sisters spun, 

Through what ancestral years has run 
The sorrow vaih the woman born, 670 

What forged her cruel chain of moods, 
What set her feet in solitudes. 

And held the love Tvdthin her mute, 
What mingled madness in the blood, 

A life-long discord and annoy, 575 

Water of tears with oil of joy. 
And hid within the folded bud 

Perversities of flower and fruit. 
It is not ours to separate 

The tangled skein of will and fate, 580 

To show what metes and bounds should stand 
Upon the souFs debatable land, 
And between choice and Providence 
Divide the circle of events ; 
But He who knows our frame is just, 685 

IMerciful, and compassionate. 
And full of sweet assurances 
And hope for all the language is. 

That He remembereth we are dust ! 



SNOW-BOUND 313 

At last the great logs, crumbling low, 590 

Sent out a dull and duller glow, 

The bulFs-eye watch that hung in view, 

Ticking its weary circuit through, 

Pointed with mutely-warning sign 

Its black hand to the hour of nine. 595 

That sign the pleasant circle broke : 

My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke. 

Knocked from its bowl the refuse grey. 

And laid it tenderly away. 

Then roused himself to safely cover 600 

The dull red brands with ashes over. 

And while, with care, our mother laid 

The work aside, her steps she stayed 

One moment, seeking to express 

Her grateful sense of happiness 605 

For food and shelter, warmth and health. 

And love's contentment more than wealth, 

With simple wishes (not the weak. 

Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, 

But such as warm the generous heart, 610 

O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) 

That none might lack, that bitter night. 

For bread and clothing, warmth and light. 



314 SELECTED POEMS 

Within our beds awhile we heard 

The wind that round the gables roared, 615 

With now and then a ruder shock, 

Which made our very bedsteads rock. 

We heard the loosened clapboards tost, 

The board-nails snapping in the frost ; 

And on us, through the unplastered wall, 620 

Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. 

But sleep stole on, as sleep will do 

When hearts are light and life is new ; 

Faint and more faint the murmurs grew. 

Till in the summer-land of dreams 625 

They softened to the sound of streams. 

Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars. 

And lapsing waves on quiet shores. 

Next morn we wakened with the shout 

Of merry voices high and clear ; 630 

And saw the teamsters drawing near 

To break the drifted highways out. 

Down the long hillside treading slow 

We saw the half -buried oxen go. 

Shaking the snow from heads uptost, 635 

Their straining nostrils white with frost. 



SNOW-BOUND 315 

Before our door the straggling train 
Drew up, an added team to gain. 
The elders threshed their hands a-cold, 

Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes 640 

From lip to lip ; the younger folks 
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, 
Then toiled again the cavalcade 

O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, 

And woodland paths that wound between 645 

Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. 
From every barn a team afoot. 
At every house a new recruit. 
Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law. 
Haply the watchful young men saw 650 

Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 
And curious eyes of merry girls. 
Lifting their hands in mock defence 
Against the snow-ball's compliments, 
And reading in each missive tost 655 

The charm with Eden never lost. 

We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound ; 

And, following where the teamsters led, 
The wise old Doctor went his round, 



316 SELECTED POEMS 

Just pausing at our door to say, 660 

In the brief autocratic way 

Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, 

Was free to urge her claim on all. 

That some poor neighbor sick abed 
At night our mother's aid would need. 665 

For, one in generous thought and deed. 

What mattered in the sufferer's sight 

The Quaker matron's inward light. 
The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed ? 
All hearts confess the saints elect 670 

Who, twain in faith, in love agree, 
And melt not in an acid sect 

The Christian pearl of charity ! 

So days went on : a week had passed 

Since the great world was heard from last. 675 

The Almanac we studied o'er. 

Read and reread our little store 

Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; 

One harmless novel, mostly hid 

From younger eyes, a book forbid, 680 

And poetry (or good or bad, 

A single book was all we had), 



SNOW-BOUND 317 

Where Ellwood's^ meek, drab-skirted Muse, 

A stranger to the heathen Nine, 

Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, 685 

The wars of David and the Jews. 
At last the floundering carrier bore 
The village paper to our door. 
Lo ! broadening outward as we read. 
To warmer zones the horizon spread ; 690 

In panoramic length unrolled 
We saw the marvels that it told. 
Before us passed the painted Creeks,® 

And daft McGregor on his raids 

In Costa Rica's everglades. 695 

And up Taygetos winding slow 
Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, 
A Turk's head at each saddle bow ! 
Welcome to us its week-old news. 
Its corner for the rustic Muse, 700 

Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, 
Its record, mingling in a breath 
The wedding knell and dirge of death : 
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale. 
The latest culprit sent to jail ; 706 

Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, 



318 SELECTED POEMS 

Its vendue sales and goods at cost, 

And traffic calling loud for gain. 
We felt the stir of hall and street, 
The pulse of life that round us beat ; 710 

The chill embargo of the snow 
Was melted in the genial glow ; 
Wide swung again our ice-locked door. 
And all the world was ours once more ! 
Clasp, Angel of the backward look 715 

And folded wings of ashen grey 

And voice of echoes far away, 
The brazen covers of thy book ; 
The weird palimpsest old and vast, 
Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past ; 720 

Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
The characters of joy and woe ; 
The monographs of outlived years, 
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, 

Green hills of life that slope to death, 725 

And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees 
Shade off to mournful cypresses 

With the white amaranths underneath. 
Even while I look, I can but heed 

The restless sands' incessant fall, 730 



SNOW-BOUND 319 

Importunate hours that hours succeed, 
Each clamorous with its own sharp need, 

And duty keeping pace with all. 
Shut down and clasp the heavy lids ; 
I hear again the voice that bids ' 735 

The dreamer leave his dream midway 
For larger hopes and graver fears : 
Life greatens in these later years, 
The century's aloe flowers to-day ! • 

Yet, haply, in some lull of life, 740 

Some Truce of God° which breaks its strife, 
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, 

Dreaming in throngful city ways 
Of winter joys his boyhood knew ; 
And dear and early friends — the few 745 

Who yet remain — shall pause to view 

These Flemish pictures^ of old days ; 
Sit with me by the homestead hearth, 
And stretch the hands of memory forth 

To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! 750 

And thanks untraced to lips unknown 
Shall greet me like the odors blown 
From unseen meadows newly mown, 



320 SELECTED POEMS 

Or lilies floating in some pond, 

Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; 755 

The traveller owns the grateful scents 

Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, 

And, pausing," takes with forehead bare 

The benediction of the air. 



NOTES 

THE ANCIENT MARINER 

Motto. — I can easily believe that in the universe are more 
invisible beings than visible. But who shall make known to 
us the nature of them all, the rank, the relationships, the dis- 
tinguishing features, and the offices of each? What do they 
do? Where do they dwell? Always about the knowledge 
of these wonders the mind of man has circled, never reached it. 
Nevertheless, I deny not, it is pleasant sometimes to contem- 
plate in the mind, as in a picture, the image of this greater 
and better world; that the intellect, wonted to the petty 
details of daily life, be not narrowed' overmuch, nor sink 
utterly to paltry thoughts. But, in the meantime, the truth 
must be vigilantly sought after, and a temperate judgment 
maintained, that we may distinguish things certain from things 
uncertain, day from night. 

1. It is. " It is " is common for " there was " in the old 
ballads. The ballad manner is used throughout. The 
omission of connectives, and of such phrases as " he said," 
and the sudden shifts from the past tense to the present and 
back, you will find on almost every page of Professor Child's 
English and Scottish Popular Ballads. The metre, of alternat- 
ing four and three-beat lines, four lines to the stanza, is known 
as ballad-metre. 

Y 321 



322 SELECTED POEMS 

Marginal note. These margiual summaries, or ** glosses," 
with their quaintness of style, add a good deal to the effect 
of the yarn. It is hard to imagine what its effect would 
have been without them. 

9-12. He holds . . . dropt he. The original reading was 

But still he holds the Wedding-Guest — 

There was a ship, quoth he — 
** Nay, if thou's got a laughsome tale, 

Mariner, come with me." 

He holds him with his skinny hand, 

Quoth he, there was a Ship — 
"Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon, 

Or my staff shall make thee skip." 

This is a little ludicrous. In the shorter final form there is 
nothing to provoke a smile. All of the little changes made by 
Coleridge after the first edition are improvements. 

12. Eftsoons. At once. Throughout the poem, Coleridge 
uses an antique phraseology as appropriate to the time of 
the story. 

25. Left. Sailing south. 

30. Noon. On the Equator. 

31. Beat his breast. The Wedding-Guest's attention is 
still divided, though he is fast coming under the spell of the 
tale. 

62. S wound. Swoon. 
64. Thorough. Old form of through. 
69. Thunder-fit. Crash like a thunder-clap. 
79. God save thee, etc. The Wedding-Guest has now for- 
gotten all about the wedding feast he is missing. To realize 



NOTES 323 

how marvellously condensed the story is, and how much of its 
strange power depends on its condensation, you need only try 
to put everything that is implied on this single page of the 
narrative into your own prose. 

83. Upon the right. That is, they have turned northward. 

128. The death-fires. St. Elmo's fire. A flame-like ap- 
pearance at tip of mast or yard-arm — of electrical origin. 
Commonly seen on dark and stormy nights. 

164. They for joy did grin. Coleridge says, in his Table- 
Talk, " I took the thought of ' grinning for joy ' from my 
companion's remark to me when we had climbed to the top of 
Plinlimmon, and were nearly dead with thirst. We could 
not speak from the constriction till we found a little puddle 
under a stone. He said to me, ' You grinned like an idiot.' 
He had done the same." 

188. Is that a Death? In the first edition is a stanza de- 
scribing Death. Professor Dowden surmises that he felt 
that *' Relying largely, as he did in his poems which deal with 
the supernatural, on the effect produced by their psj^chological 
truth, Coleridge could afford to subdue the supernatural, and 
refine it to the utmost. He did not need to drag into his verse 
all the horrors of the churchyard and the nether pit of Hell. 
He felt that these hideous incidents of the grave only de- 
tracted from the finer horror of the voluptuous beauty of his 
White Devil, the nightmare Life-in-Death. . . . She it was, 
this Life-in-Death, who with her numbing spell haunted Cole- 
ridge himself in after days.' " 

211. Within the nether tip. " It is a common superstition 
among sailors," wrote Coleridge in a manuscript note, '* that 



324 SELECTED POEMS 

something evil is about to happen whenever a star dogs the 
moon." 

223. My cross-bow. It has been noted that mention of the 
cross-bow dates the adventure of the Mariner at the sixteenth 
century or earlier. 

290. The Albatross fell off. Like Christian's burden, in 
Pilgrim^ s Progress. 

297. Silly. In its old meaning, *' empty." 

308. A blessed ghost. A spirit, blessed because freed from^ 
the prison of the body. 

464. Oh ! dream of joy. " How pleasantly, how reas- 
suringly," says Walter Pater, " the whole nightmare story is 
made to end, among the clear fresh sounds and lights of the 
bay, where it began." 

635. Ivy-tod. Ivy bush. 



LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME 

HORATIUS 

*' The following ballad is supposed to have been made about 
a hundred and twenty years after the war which it celebrates, 
and just before the taking of Rome by the Gauls. The author 
seems to have been an honest citizen, proud of the military 
glory of his country, sick of the disputes of factions, and much 
given to pining after good old times which had never really 
existed. The allusion, however, to the partial manner in which 
the public lands were allotted could proceed only from a ple- 
beian ; and the allusion to the fraudulent sale of spoils marks 



NOTES 325 

the date of the poem, and shows that the poet shared in the 
general discontent with which the proceedings of Camillus, 
after the taking of Veii, were regarded." — Macaulay's 
Preface, 

For all proper names mentioned in the Lays, the student 
should consult a classical dictionary. 

3. The great house of Tarquin. The " wrong " the Tar- 
quins had suffered was exile from Rome for their tyranny. 

72. Traced from the right. The Greeks originally wrote 
(as Orientals still do) from right to left. 

200. The deed of shame. Tarquinius Sextus had wronged 
Lucretia, wife of a kinsman. This deed brought to a head 
the popular hatred of the Tarquins, and more than any other 
one thing brought about their exile from Rome. 

650. The Comitium. The Forum. 

The Battle of the Lake Regillus 

" The following poem is supposed to have been produced 
about ninety years after the lay of Horatius. Some persons 
mentioned in the lay of Horatius make their appearance 
again, and some appellations and epithets used in the lay of 
Horatius have been purposely repeated : for, in an age of 
ballad-poetry, it scarcely ever fails to happen, that certain 
phrases come to be appropriated to certain men and things, 
and are regularly applied to those men and things by every 
minstrel. Thus we find both things in the Homeric poems 

and in Hesiod, ^ir} * UpaKX-qeir} ' irepLKXjJTOS ' AiJL(pLyvri€LS, diaKTopos 
* ApyeLcpdvTTjs, ewrdirvXos Otj^tj, * EX^prjs, 'iveK.'' 7jvK6fjLoio, Thus, tOO, in 



326 SELECTED POEMS 

our own national songs, Douglas is almost always the doughty 
Douglas : England is merry England : all the gold is red ; and 
all the ladies are gay. 

" The principal distinction between the lay of Horatius and 
the lay of the Lake Regillus is that the former is meant to be 
purely Roman, while the latter, though national in its general 
spirit, has a slight tincture of Greek learning and Greek supersti- 
tion. The battle of the Lake Regillus is in all respects a Homeric 
battle, except that the combatants ride astride on their horses, 
instead of driving chariots. The mass of fighting men is 
hardly mentioned. The leaders single each other out, and 
engage hand to hand. The great object of the warriors on 
both sides is, as in the Iliad, to obtain possession of the spoils 
and bodies of the slain ; and several circumstances are related 
which forcibly remind us of the great slaughter round the 
corpses of Sarpedon and Patroclus. 

*' In the following poem, therefore, images and incidents have 
been borrowed, not merely without scruple, but on principle, 
from the incomparable battle-pieces of Homer. 

" The popular belief at Rome, from an early period, seems to 
have been that the event of the great day of Regillus was de- 
cided by supernatural agency. Castor and Pollux, it was 
said, had fought, armed and mounted, at the head of the legions 
of the commonwealth, and had afterwards carried the news of 
the victory with incredible speed to the city. The well in 
the Forum at which they had alighted was pointed out. Near 
the well rose their ancient temple. A great festival was kept 
to their honour on the Ides of Quintilis, supposed to be the 
anniversary of the battle ; and on that day sumptuous sacri- 



NOTES 327. 

fices were offered to them at the public charge. One spot on 
the margin of Lake Regillus was regarded during many ages 
with superstitious awe. A mark, resembling in shape a horse's 
hoof, was discernible in the volcanic rock ; and this mark was 
believed to have been made by one of the celestial chargers." 
— Macaulay's Preface. 
2. Lictors. Bodyguards. 

13. Yellow River. The Tiber. 

14. Sacred Hill. The hill on which the temple of Jupiter 
stood. 

15. Ides of Quintilis. July the fifteenth, the day of the 
festival of Castor and Pollux. 

63. The Thirty Cities. A great confederation of Latin 
cities which united in opposing Rome. 

91. Did his office. Performed his duty. 

174. The ghastly priest. The priest of Diana at Aricia 
was always a runaway slave who had killed his predecessor. 

217. A woman fair and stately. The spirit of Lucretia, 
whom Tarquinius Sextus had wronged. 

623-624. Hearth of Vesta . . . Golden Shield. The Tem- 
ple of Vesta, goddess of the hearth, stood in the Forum. 
Here the sacred fire was kept always burning by the Vestal 
Virgins, and here was guarded a sacred shield, supposed to have 
fallen from Heaven. The Romans believed that so long as it 
was preserved, the city was safe. " The Twelve," mentioned 
below (1. 695), were the twelve priests whose duty it was to 
guard the Shield. 



.328 SELECTED POEMS 

Virginia 

" A collection consisting exclusively of war-songs would 
give an imperfect, or rather an erroneous notion of the 
spirit of the old Latin ballads. . . . No parts of early 
Roman history are richer with poetical colouring than those 
which relate to the long contest between the privileged houses 
and the commonalty. The population of Rome was, from a 
very early period, divided into hereditary castes, which, in- 
deed, readily united to repel foreign enemies, but which re- 
garded each other, during many years, with bitter animosity. 
. . . Appius Claudius had left a name as much detested as 
that of Sextus Tarquinius. This elder Appius had been Consul 
more than seventy years before the introduction of the Licin- 
ian lav/s. By availing himself of a singular crisis in public 
feeling, he had obtained the consent of the Commons to the 
abolition of the Tribuneship, and had been the chief of that 
Council of Ten to which the whole direction of the State had 
been committed. In a few months his administration had 
become universally odious. It had been swept away by an 
irresistible outbreak of popular fury, and its memory was still 
held in abhorrence by the whole city. The immediate cause 
of the downfall of this execrable government was said to have 
been an attempt made by Appius Claudius upon the chastity 
of a beautiful young girl of humble birth. The story ran that 
the Decemvir, unable to succeed by bribes and solicitations, 
resorted to an outrageous act of tyranny. A vile dependant 
of the Claudian house laid claim to the damsel as his slave. 
The cause was brought before the tribunal of Appius. The 
wicked magistrate, in defiance of the clearest proofs, gave 



NOTES 329 

judgment for the claimant. But the girl's father, a brave 
soldier, saved her from servitude and dishonour by stabbing 
her to the heart in the sight of the whole Forum. That blow 
was the signal for a general explosion. Camp and city rose 
at once ; the Ten were pulled down ; the Tribuneship was 
reestablished ; and Appius escaped the hands of the execu- 
tioner only by a voluntary death. 

, ** It can hardly be doubted that a story so admirably adapted 
to the purposes both of the poet and of the demagogue would 
be eagerly seized upon by minstrels burning with hatred 
against the Patrician order, against the Claudian house, and 
especially against the grandson and namesake of the infamous 
Decemvir. 

'* In order that the reader may judge fairly of these fragments 
of the lay of Virginia, he must imagine himself a Plebeian who 
has just voted for the reelection of Sextius and Licinius. All 
the power of the Patricians has been exerted to throw out the 
two great champions of the Commons. Every Posthumius, 
^milius, and Cornelius has used his influence to the utmost. 
Debtors have been let out of the workhouses on condition of 
voting against the men of the people : Clients have been posted 
to hiss and interrupt the favourite candidates : Appius Clau- 
dius Crassus has spoken with more than his usual eloquence and 
asperity : all has been in vain : Licinius and Sextius have a fifth 
time carried all the tribes : work is suspended : the booths are 
closed : the Plebeians bear on their shoulders the two cham- 
pions of liberty through the Forum. Just at this moment it is 
announced that a popular poet, a zealous adherent of the 
Tribunes, has made a new song, which will cut the Claudiau 



330 SELECTED POEMS 

nobles to the heart. The crowd gathers round him, and calls 
on him to recite it. He takes his stand on the spot where, 
according to tradition, Virginia, more than seventy years ago, 
was seized by the pandar of Appius, and he begins his story." 
— Mac'aulay's Preface. 

6. Maids with Snaky tresses. This line alludes to the 
stories of Medusa and Circe. 

10. The wicked Ten. The Decemviri, who had been ap- 
pointed to rule Rome, and had become tyrants. 

20. Client. Each of the great men of Rome was surrounded 
by a company of dependants, or " clients," who were expected 
to serve him in return for his patronage. 

35. Sacred Street. The Via Sacra, which led to the Forum. 

46. Seven Hills. Rome was built upon seven hills. 

98. Scaevola. Mucins Scsevola was a Roman youth con- 
demned to be burned alive for the attempted assassination of 
Porsena, who was besieging Rome. He deliberately held his 
hand in flame, without a wince, and told Porsena there were 
three hundred other Roman youths as brave who had sworn 
to kill him. According to the legend, Scaevola was freed, and 
peace made with Rome. 

249. Caius, of Corioli. Caius Alarcius, called Coriolanus, 
because his bravery had captured the town of Corioli. Later 
exiled from Rome for his indifference to the welfare of the 
commons. See Shakespeare's Coriolanus. 

The Prophecy of Capys 

" It can hardly be necessary to remind any reader that 
according to the popular tradition, Romulus, after he had slain 



NOTES 331 

his grand-uncle Amulius, and restored his grandfather Numi- 
tor, determined to quit Alba, the hereditary domain of the 
Sylvian princes, and to found a new city. The gods, it was 
added, vouchsafed the clearest signs of the favour with which 
they regarded the enterprise, and of the high destinies reserved 
for the young colony. 

"" This event was likely to be a favourite theme of the old ^ 
Latin minstrels. They would naturally attribute the project 
of Romulus to some divine intimation of the power and pros- 
perity which it was decreed that his city should attain. They 
would probably introduce seers, foretelling the victories of 
unborn Consuls and Dictators ; and the last great victory 
would generally occupy the most conspicuous place in the 
prediction. There is nothing strange in the supposition that 
the ppet who was employed to celebrate the first great 
triumph of the Romans over the Greeks might throw his song 
of exultation into this form. ... 

" The following lay belongs to the latest age of Latin ballad- 
poetry. Nsevius and Livius Andronicus were probably among 
the children whose mothers held them up to see the chariot of 
Curius go by. The minstrel who sang on that day might 
possibly have lived to read the first hexameters of Ennius, 
and to see the first comedies of Plautus. His poem, as might 
be expected, shows a much wider acquaintance with the 
geography, manners, and productions of remote nations, than 
would have been found in compositions of the age of Camillus. 
But he troubles himself little about dates, and having heard 
travellers talk with admiration of the Colossus of Rhodes, and 
of the structures and gardens with which the Macedonian 



332 SELECTED POEMS 

kings of Syria had embellished their residence on the banks of 
the Orontes, he has ne^ er thought of inquiring whether these 
things existed in the age of Romulus." — Macaulay's Preface. 

93. Capys. Himself of the Sylvian line, a descendant of 
^neas. 

150. Liber. Bacchus, god of wine. 

177. Pilum. Javelin. 

211. Epirotes. Dwellers in Epirus. 

230. The Red King. Pyrrhus, the Grecian king who had 
been overcome by the Romans. The Tarentines had insulted 
a Roman ambassador. 

!' Rome, in consequence of this insult, declared war against 
the Tarentines. The Tarentines sought for allies beyond the 
Ionian Sea. Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, came to their help with 
a large army ; and, for the first time, the two great nations of 
antiquity were fairly matched against each other. 

" The fame of Greece in arms, as well as in arts, was then at 
the height. Half a century earlier, the career of Alexander 
had excited the admiration and terror of all nations from the 
Ganges to the Pillars of Hercules. Royal houses, founded by 
Macedonian captains, still reigned at Antioch and Alexandria. 
That barbarian warriors, led by barbarian chiefs, should win a 
pitched battle against Greek valour, guided by Greek science, 
seemed as incredible as it would now seem that the Burmese 
or the Siamese should, in the open plain, put to flight an equal 
number of the best English troops. The Tarentines were 
convinced that their countrymen were irresistible in war ; 
and this conviction had emboldened them to treat with the 
grossest indignity one whom they regarded as the represent- 



NOTES 333 

ative of an inferior race. Of the Greek generals then living, 
Pyrrhus was indisputably the first. Among the troops who 
were trained in the Greek discipline, his Epirotes ranked high. 
His expedition to Italy was a turning-point in the history of 
the world. He found there a people who, far inferior to the 
Athenians and Corinthians in the fine arts, in the speculative 
sciences, and in all the refinements of life, were the best soldiers 
on the face of the earth. 

** The conquerors had a good right to exult in their success ; 
for the glory was all their own. They had not learned from 
their enemy how to conquer him. It was with their own 
national arms, and in their own national battle-array, that 
they had overcome weapons and tactics long believed to be 
invincible. The pilum and the broadsword had vanquished 
the Macedonian spear. The legion had broken the Mace- 
donian phalanx. Even the elephants, when the surprise 
produced by their first appearance was over, could cause no 
disorder in the steady yet flexible battalions of Rome." — 
Macaulay's Preface, 

266. Suppliant's Grove. A hollow at the crest of the Capi- 
toline Hill, where, as in the Temple of Vesta, an asylum or 
place of refuge could be found by criminals or those who were 
in fear of violence. 

THE RAVEN 

Some time after The Raven had been written and gained a 
wide hearing, Poe wrote an essay called The Philosophy of 
Composition, " The Raven,"" says Arthur Ransome, one of Poe's 



334 SELECTED POEMS 

best critics, '' a profound piece of technique, is scarcely as 
profound, and certainly not as surprising, as The Philosophy 
of Composition, in. which its construction is minutely analyzed ; 
and Poe callously explains, as a matter of scientific rather than 
personal interest, that the whole poem was built on the refrain. 
Nevermore, and that this particular refrain was chosen on 
account of the sonority and ease of the o and r sounded 
together." 

Poe was fond of exaggerating for the sake of making a point, 
and in The Philosophy of Composition was arguing that the 
act of composing poetry follows regular laws. At all events, 
there is no doubt that the long sound " ore " had a fascination 
for him. The words " no more " are prominent in half a 
dozen of his short poems ; and Lenore is the title of one of 
them. 

The subject of the poem is Poe's favorite one. See Intro- 
duction, p. xxi. 

16-17. Chamber Door. These repetitions, or repetends, of 
phrases or whole lines, are a most striking trait of Poe's verse. 
It is fair to guess that he got the idea from Coleridge's Ancient 
Mariner. See p. 7, lines 115, 117, 119. 

38. Raven. The raven was always considered a bird of 
evil omen. 

41. Pallas. Pallas Athene, or Minerva, was the goddess of 
conflict as weU as the goddess of wisdom. 

64. Burden. Refrain. 

89. Balm in Gilead. Jeremiah viii. 22. 

93. Aidenn. The Arabic form of " Eden." 



NOTES 335 

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL 

The Holy Grail plays an important part in the legends of 
the Middle Ages. The Grail was the fabled cup from which 
Christ had drunk at the Last Supper. It was supposed to have 
been brought to England by Joseph of Arimathea. Tennyson 
represents the Knights of the Round Table setting out in 
search of the Grail. Most of them " pursue wandering fires " 

— do not find the Grail, and in the meantime neglect their 
natural duties at home. 

So the young knight Sir Launfal is inspired to a quest of 
the Grail, which he fancies to be a virtuous enterprise, but 
which is really a selfish pursuit of his own glory. See Intro- 
duction, p. xxiv. 

Prelude to Part First 

The opening lines suggest that the poet begins " improvis- 
ing," and gradually finds his way, chord by chord, to a prelude, 

— composed in the key, and suggesting the theme, of the move- 
ment which is to follow. Summer and youth and hope are 
the subject of this Prelude, and the young and brilliant Sir 
Launfal appears naturally upon the scene at the end : and so 
the tale begins. 

9. Not only around our infancy, etc. The allusion is to the 
famous passage in Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality : 
Lowell says the vision is still there, if we only had eyes to see it. 

"Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy. 
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 



336 SELECTED POEMS 

The youth, who daily farther from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away 
And fade into the light of common day." 

12. We Sinais climb. We come face to face with God, as 
Moses did on Mount Sinai. 

116. In the North Countree. The action is supposed to take 
place in the North of England ; but the setting, the scenery as 
Lowell paints it, belongs to New England. 

Prelude to Part Second 

As the first prelude gave the keynote of summer and youth 
and joy, the second strikes a sombre chord of age and winter. 
Winter is the fit season for the aged and broken knight to 
appear again. 

243. The Weaver Winter. The first edition read, " For 
the frost's swift shuttles its shroud had spun." Which is 
better ? 

276. The leper, etc. The same test is applied to the aged 
knight, but he has learned the meaning of life. Like the 
Ancient Mariner, he has discovered that love of one's fellow- 
creatures is the key to real success. 

291. Leprosie. The form, like " Countree," is used to give 
a touch of quaintness to the style. 

320-327. These lines give the '* moral " of the whole poem. 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 

For the sources of the poem, see Introduction, p. xxvii. The 
poem is called " an episode," in the subtitle. That is, it is 



NOTES 337 

supposed to be a fragment of a larger epic. This is suggested 
by the " and " with which the tale begins. • 

2. Oxus. This great river bounded Persia, and formed a 
natural bar between the Persians and the Tartar hordes of 
Central Asia. 

11 ; Peran-Wisa. The chief in command of the Tartar Army 
for Afrasiab, king of the Tartars. 

62. Fame speaks clear. The young Sohrab, like the heroes 
of the Iliad, looks upon war as a game at which a higher 
personal stake is to be won than at any other game. 

110-116. From their black tents. These lines have the 
stately stride of Arnold's master, in English, of the noble or 
" grand " style, — Milton. 

230. That one slight helpless girl. You remember Soh- 
rab's mother had deceived Rustum as to the sex of their child. 

257. Unknown and in plain arms. As Sir Lancelot fought 
for similar reasons. See Tennyson's Lancelot and Elaine. 

302. As some rich woman, etc. The long simile that fol- 
lows is in the Homeric manner — not only a figure of compari- 
son, but a complete little picture in itself. Arnold said of the 
figures in this poem, " I can only say that I took a great deal 
of trouble to orientalize them, because I thought they looked 
strange, and jarred, if western." As we have seen, Lowell 
took no such pains with The Vision of Sir Launfal in which the 
scenery and figures are modern, while the subject of the tale is 
mediaeval. But The Vision was a rapid sketch, while Sohrab 
and Rustum is a work of art composed with extreme care. 

322. O thou young man, etc. Here again Arnold follows 
Homer as a model. The old Greek champions, like the warriors 



338 SELECTED POEMS 

of all primitive races, prefaced their combats with boasts and 
warnings. ^ 

828. Thou dreadful man. Dreadful is one of the many 
words, used rightly in this poem, which we commonly degrade. 

875. But the majestic river floated on. The Oxus through- 
out stands as a great and calm witness of the human tragedy 
recorded in the poem — a symbol of the permanence of nature 
and life, whatever may befall the human race. 

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

Miles Standish was, of course, a real historic figure. Of good 
English blood, and next in succession to large estates in Eng- 
land, he chose to throw in his fortunes with the Puritan settlers 
at Plymouth. He came of fighting stock, and was held in awe 
by the Indians. 

15. John Alden, according to the chronicle, " was hired for 
a cooper at Southampton, where the ship the Mayflower 
victualled ; and being a hopeful young man was much desired, 
but left to his own liking to go or stay when he came here 
to Plymouth, but he stayed and married here." Longfellow 
traced his descent to both Standish and Alden. 

28. Arcabucero. Musketeer. 

85. " Mr. William MuUines and his wife and two children, 
Joseph and Priscilla," are in the list of passengers in the 
Mayflower. They all died except Priscilla during that first 
terrible winter of which Rose Standish was another victim. 
. 442. The elder of Plymouth. Elder William Brewster, 
who had been chosen as their minister before the Mayflower 
sailed from the old world. 



NOTES 339 

449-481. Winslow's Relation gives the story as follows : — 

"At length came one of them to us, who was sent by Conana- 
cus, their chief sachem or king, accompanied with one Toka- 
mahamon, a friendly Indian. This messenger inquired for 
Tisquantum, our interpreter, who not being at home, seemed 
rather to be glad than sorry, and leaving for him a bundle of 
new arrows, lapped in a rattlesnake's skin, desired to depart 
with all expedition." . . . Hereupon, after some deliberation, 
the Governor stuffed the skin with powder and shot, and sent 
it back, returning no less defiance to Conanacus." 

751. Two, from among them advancing. Longfellow has 
shifted the scene of the incident that follows, but otherwise 
follows Winslow's Relation pretty closely. 

" Divers of them severally, or few together, came to the 
plantation to him (Captain Standish), where they would whet 
and sharpen the points of their knives before his face, and use 
many other insulting gestures and speeches. Among the rest 
Wituwamat bragged of the excellency of his knife. On the 
end of the. handle there was pictured a woman's face ; ' But,' 
said he, ' I have another at home, wherewith I have killed 
both French and English, and that hath a man's face on it ; 
and by and by these two must marry.' Further he said of 
that knife he there had, ' Hinnaim namen, hinnaim michen, 
matta cuts ' ; that is to say, ' By and by it should see, and 
by and by it should eat, but not speak.' Also Pecksuot, 
being a man of greater stature than the Captain, told him, 
though he were a great captain, yet he was but a little man ; . 
' And,' said he, ' though I be no sachem, yet I am a man of 
great strength and courage.' These things the .Captain ob- 
served, yet bare with patience for the present. 



340 SELECTED POEMS 

" On the next day, seeing he could not get many of them 
together at once, and this Pecksuot and Wituwamat both to- 
gether, with another man, and a youth of some eighteen years 
of age, which was brother to Wituwamat and, villain-like, 
trod in his steps, daily putting many tricks upon the weaker 
sort of men, and having about as many of his own company in a 
room with them, gave the word to his men, and the door being 
fast shut, began with Pecksuot, and snatching his own knife 
from his neck, though with much struggling, killed him there- 
^-ith, the point whereof he had made as sharp as a needle, and 
ground the back also to an edge. Wituwamat and the other 
man the rest killed, and took the youth, whom the Captain 
caused to be hanged. But it is incredible how many wounds 
these two pineses [braves] received before they died, not mak- 
ing any fearful noise, but catching at their weapons and striv- 
ing to the last. Hobbamock stood by all this time as a spec- 
tator, and meddled not, observing how our men demeaned 
themselves in this action. All being here ended, smiling he 
brake forth into these speeches to the captain : ''Yesterday 
Pecksuot, bragging of his own strength and stature, said, 
though you were a great captain, yet you were but a little 
man ; but to-day I see you are big enough to lay him on the 
ground.' " 

1006. Happy husband and wife. There is a quaint entry 
written many j^ears later in Bradford's account : " Mr. Wil- 
liam Mollines and his wife, his son and his servant, died the 
first winter. Only his daughter Priscilla survived and married 
with John Aid en, who are both living and have eleven 
children," 



NOTES 341 

SNOW-BOUND 

65. Pisa's leaning miracle. The leaning tower of Pisa. 

90. Amun. An Egyptian god with a ram's head. 

215. The Chief of Gambia, etc. This and the italicized 
lines below are from a poem called The African Chief in a 
school-book of Whittier's, The American Preceptor. 

259. Cocheco. Now Dover, N.H. 

286. Painful Sewel's ancient tome. William Sewel's 
History of the Quakers, a book which had a natural place in the 
Whittiers' scant library. 

289. Chalkley's Journal. Chalkley was a Quaker preacher 
whose life was not without its adventures. 

305. The tangled ram. Genesis xxii. 

320. ApoUonius . . . Hermes. Apollonseus TynaBUs and 
Hermes Trismegistus, the first a Greek and the second an 
Egyptian, both magicians. 

332. White of Selborne. Gilbert White, author of one of 
the most famous books of natural history, The Natural His- 
tory of Selborne, He lived in the eighteenth century. 

398. Now bathed within the fadeless green. Whittier 
was never married, but a deep affection lay between him and 
his sister Elizabeth, who had but just died when Snow-Bound 
was written. 

476. Araxes. Or Aracthus. A river whose source is in the 
Pindus range in Greece. 

510. Another guest. This guest, who so interested Whittier, 
must have formed an odd contrast to the staid Quaker hosts. 
She was Miss Harriet Livermore. She became a religious 
fanatic. 



342 SELECTED POEMS 

536. Petruchio's Kate. Keroineof The Taming of the Shrew, 

537. Siena's saint. St. Catherine. 

655. The crazy Queen of Lebanon. Lady Hester Stan- 
hope, like Miss Livermore, believed that Christ was very soon 
coming back on earth. She built a palace on Mount Lebanon, 
and lived there in the expectation of welcoming the Messiah 
on his return. Miss Livermore and she were friends for a 
time, but quarrelled as to which should have first place by 
the Redeemer. 

683. EUwood. Thomas Ellwood, a Quaker poet and friend 
of Milton.. 

693-698. Whittier even recalls the news of his boyhood, 
— the removal of the Creek Indians from Georgia to the west, 
the filibustering of one McGregor (1822) in Central America, 
and the struggle of the Greeks against Turkey. 

741. Truce of God. " A name given to an historic compact 
in force during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, 
generally applying throughout Western Europe, whereby the 
barons were to do no fighting from Wednesday evening till 
Monday morning, or during Advent or Lent, or on principal 
saints' days. Pilgrims, priests, women, and merchants were 
to receive special exemption from pillage. Violation of the 
truce was punishable by excommunication from the Church." 

747. Flemish pictures. The Flemish painters were par- 
ticularly fond of farm scenes. 



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